


Odyssey

by Jael, pir8grl



Series: Voyages of the Canary [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pir8grl/pseuds/pir8grl
Summary: The Canary sets off in search of Oliver Queen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: For flashbacks of the scene of the Gambit sinking and Sara being ‘rescued’ by the crew of the Amazo. 
> 
> The poem that Len recites to Sara is “To His Coy Mistress,” by Andrew Marvell. 
> 
> And yes, that’s Odyssey as in, Homer. As in, a hero’s epic voyage home.

**Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony**

 

Sara was seated at her desk, sorting papers into her strongbox, when Leonard entered the cabin with her tea. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, watching as she inhaled the fragrant steam and smiled contentedly, a sight he would never grow tired of. 

“This is the letter of introduction to Mistress Queen’s solicitor here in Boston,” she told him, holding it up with her other hand. “Should we accept her commission, the solicitor will sign and seal this letter, to her warehouse in the commercial district, instructing them to supply The Canary to full capacity.” 

“That’s really quite generous. And this one?” he asked, looking over her shoulder, noting a document written in Sara’s own hand. 

She hesitated a long moment, taking a sip of the tea and glancing away. Leonard waited, fully certain he could guess, but wanting Sara to tell him in her own words.

“This is...my final instructions, should anything happen to me,” she said finally, an air of resignation in her tone. “I realized, after that night, that it should be written out, formally.”

“Sara -”

She raised a hand to forestall his protests. “The Canary is all I have in this world. I leave her to you and Mick, as equal partners.” She gave him a sidelong look, and her tone turned a combination of wheedling and teasing, with an underlying thread of seriousness. “You don’t have enough seacraft to command her yourself, and Mick doesn’t have your head for business. Together, though, you can keep my crew safe and reasonably comfortable. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?” 

“You know I would.” 

Sara slipped out of her chair and stretched up on her toes to kiss him. His hands settled on her hips to hold her steady against him. Her lips were warm from her tea, and sweet with traces of honey, and Leonard wondered if anyone would notice if they just stayed in here for a while…

“Cap’n!” they heard Mick bellowing from the corridor, accompanied by Verdant’s ecstatic squawking. 

Leonard sighed. Sara settled back down onto her heels and looked up at him through her lashes. “Later,” she promised. 

“Captain?” Amaya’s much more moderate voice called. 

“Come in!” Sara replied, taking a step back.

The door opened, and Amaya entered, looking quite fetching in a striped petticoat and scarlet linen jacket. Her curls were held back from her face with a vivid yellow silk scarf. Mick entered after her, looking surprisingly neat and well groomed. 

“You look well,” Sara complimented them, looking from one to the other. They were good for each other, she thought. She couldn’t deny some surprise at the relationship, but there was no way she could argue with the results.

“So do you,” Amaya replied, with a glance at Leonard. Sara had the second impression she was thinking the same thing, or close, about them.

Well. It was true enough.

Leonard gestured Amaya to the other chair, then picked himself a spot of wall to lounge against. Mick stood more or less ‘at ease’ in front of Sara’s desk. 

“We stayed with Lisa,” Mick supplied, looking at Leonard, then Sara again. “She says yer supposed to come and call before we head out again.” His tone was fond. But then, Lisa was the next best thing to a sister he had himself.

“Of course we will,” Sara replied warmly, garnering a smile from Leonard. Then she waited, knowing--or at least suspecting--that her first mate was already growing restless, and would surely want to know what came...

“What’s our destination, Cap’n?” Mick asked abruptly, proving Sara right and drawing a huff of laughter from Amaya, who had surely known what was coming. Leonard just smiled again.

“I’m not entirely certain yet,” Sara told him seriously. Mick deserved that. “We’ve been asked to take on a commission, to search for a friend who was lost in the wreck of The Queen’s Gambit.” 

“Ain’t that the ship you was on?” Mick demanded, leaning against the desk, concern in his voice--but also curiosity.

“But I thought that was years ago?” Amaya questioned, frowning a little. “And that you were the only survivor?” 

“True, true, and that’s what I thought,” Sara replied, in turn, leaning back in her chair.

“Than why…?” Amaya asked. 

Sara sighed softly and looked to Leonard for support. He nodded his encouragement, straightening out of his lean.

“His mother asked me to look into the matter,” Sara told them with a sigh. “I said I’d at least look at the reports from the investigation of the wreck.” 

Mick stared at her a moment, then glanced at Leonard--who was abruptly reminded that Mick had known Sara some time before he’d met her. Then he looked back at his captain. “You don’t owe that woman nothing, Sara,” he remarked. 

“I know,” Sara replied slowly, meeting his eyes, “but Ollie and I grew up together. If he survived, somehow, and if he wants it, I’d like to bring him home. If I can find out for sure that he’s dead, well, his mother deserves to know that, too.”

* * *

Leonard wasn’t surprised that stirring up memories of the Queen’s Gambit by day was also stirring up Sara’s dreams at night. He’d grown accustomed to waking with her twitching and muttering in her sleep. He wondered if Sara would object too much if ‘Ollie’ happened to acquire a few mysterious bruises when they finally met.

Leonard wasn’t one to be possessive--well, not the sort of possessive that led him to deny a lady her choices. But if he’d known what Sara was dreaming, complete with her painful memories, he may have been a little more tempted to arrange those bruises.

_They were in Ollie’s comfortably appointed cabin, drinking French wine. It was stronger than what she was accustomed to. Ollie had unlaced the bodice of her dress, and whispered how beautiful she was, between kisses. Now he was kissing her throat, and fondling her bosom through the soft linen of her shift. She supposed that was wicked, but it felt wonderful, and Ollie certainly seemed pleased with himself. He flashed her a saucy grin, then bent his head and caught the end of the shift’s drawstring between his teeth, obviously intent on pulling the bow._

_Perhaps she hadn’t thought this all the way through - she’d never let a boy put his hands on her before - but Master Queen swore he’d see them married, so surely there was no harm? Laurel was going to be so jealous when they returned home! A flash of lightning illuminated the room in blinding detail, and thunder roared directly overhead..._

Sara sat straight up with a gasp, dislodging Leonard’s hand from her shoulder. One hand clutched her shirt to her chest, and her breathing was fast and panicked. Her eyes darted to Leonard, and then she closed them, but not before he saw a flash of relief. Still, the rest of the panic response didn’t subside, memory proving stronger for the moment.

“Sara?” he asked carefully. “Sara, you’re safe. You’re aboard The Canary. Your ship. **_Yours._** Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t let it.” 

After a moment he reached out and carefully brushed her hair back over her shoulder. He sat up slowly, and the instant the tension drained out of her, he was there to guide her to rest back against his chest. 

“I woke you again. I’m sorry.” Sara’s voice was flat and without inflection, but she went willingly. Well, there was no way anyone could make Sara do otherwise. Not without bloodshed.

“I don’t care about that,” he replied. “I just don’t like what this is doing to you.” 

“I deserve it.” Her tone was bleak.

“You do not.” He sighed, not wanting to start a pointless argument with his oh-so-stubborn beloved in the middle of the night. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Sara was quiet a few more moments, then sighed, turning her face into his collarbone.

“I was with Ollie, in his cabin,” she murmured. “It was the last moment, right before the ship was struck.” 

“Struck by what?” 

“I don’t know. Lightning, maybe? There was a dreadful storm, directly overhead, and then the most tremendous crash. Then the cabin filled with water.” There was a very unSara-like quaver in her voice at the last word. “It happened so fast!” 

Leonard wrapped both arms around Sara, tucking her head under his chin. “You’re safe,” he repeated soothingly. 

“My very first thought was that is was some sort of judgement, you know?” she whispered. “For fooling around with Ollie.” 

“You were young and thoughtless, the both of you. That’s hardly a crime. Besides,” he added, hoping to coax a smile, “you are sort of irresistible.” 

It worked. “Only sort of?” she pouted, looking up at him, a slight sparkle back in her eyes.

“Well, seeing as how it’s the middle of the night, I think you’d be totally irresistible if you were to close your eyes and go back to sleep,” he told her seriously.

Sara made a discontented little sound in her throat, and Leonard slid down into the pillows, drawing her with him. He stroked his fingers gently through her hair. 

“Hush, now. Close your eyes.” He kissed the top of her head, then began to murmur softly. 

_“Had we but world enough and time_  
_This coyness, lady, were no crime._  
_We would sit down and think which way_  
_To walk, and pass our long love’s day…”_

__

____

* * *

The next morning, Leonard padded up on deck in his stocking feet, shoes and waistcoat in hand. Mick looked over at him curiously.

“Where’s the cap’n?” 

“Sleeping.” 

“She don’t like it when you sneak out without waking her,” the big man said with a warning note in his voice.

“I don’t like it when she can’t sleep through the night for bad dreams.” Leonard’s voice was a bit terse as he joined his friend by the wheel.

Mick huffed out a breath and looked out over the dirty water of the harbor. “I guess...I just thought, now that Sara was free of all that League of Assassins crap, we could just...I dunno…” 

“Move forward?” Leonard sighed. “Yeah, so did I.” He shook his head. “ We’re going to the solicitor’s office today to look at the reports. It may be that she’ll be satisfied with their findings.” 

“Uh uh. Tell me, Snart, have you actually **_met_** Sara?”

* * *

Moira Queen’s Boston solicitor was a pompous, overdressed snob who initially addressed Snart as ‘Captain Lance.’ Even after that gaffe was corrected, he still insisted on directing his remarks to Leonard instead of Sara. Not that she cared; she’d yet to hear anything useful from him.

“As you can see, the investigation was quite thorough,” the lawyer was saying in a most put-upon tone. “I’m not sure what precisely _**you**_ think you can add to our findings.” 

Sara had long ceased listening to the man’s prattle (letting Leonard deal with it, she told herself, as payback for sneaking out that morning). Her gaze lingered on a sketch of Ollie, reproduced, she knew, from a family portrait that hung in the parlor of the Queens’ grand home. 

Leonard, marking where her gaze went, glanced at it. The boy was handsome, certainly. He supposed he could see what might have turned a young girl’s head. And then a thought occurred to him. 

“You said that this sketch is posted in all of your offices?” he said abruptly, cutting off the lawyer’s latest whine about the investigation and “all the **_best_** people” who worked on it.

“Yes.” The man was not amused at his interruption, but Moira Queen’s directions had been quite clear. “Master Oliver and Master Queen’s portraits, as well as descriptions of the crew, and of course, Miss Lance.” 

“Captain Lance,” Leonard reminded him. 

“Wait - how did anyone know I was aboard?” Sara asked, gaze darting back to the solicitor, who frowned.

“The dockmaster saw you board the ship with Master Oliver,” he said in an even more supercilious tone. “It was in his report. Your identity was deduced from his description.” 

Leonard was concentrating as an idea began to form in his clever mind. “And you searched any possible ports along the Gambit’s route?” he asked, still thinking. 

“Quite thoroughly.” The man sounded quite offended, as if even Moira Queen’s edict for respectfulness was not enough to restrain his annoyance that this, this **_ruffian_** and his doxy-posing-as-a-captain would have the temerity to question the investigation. “We also have arrangements with any businesses that the gentlemen had patronized in the past- tailors, silversmiths, fine accommodations, and so forth. If either Master Queen or his son appear, they are to be given every courtesy, and a message sent to our nearest office at once.” 

Leonard tapped the sketch with a fingertip. “They’re looking for **_this_** man,” he said intently, ignoring the outraged spluttering that finally spilled over from the other side of the table. “And it’s not going to work. You said it yourself, Sara - you are not the same girl that stepped aboard that boat. You weren’t rescued, you survived. To do that, you had to change - become someone else. So what if -”

“What if Ollie did, too?” Sara ignored the unhappy solicitor to look at the sketch thoughtfully. “They’re looking for the spoiled son of a wealthy man, but he could be...well, almost anything.” 

“I fail to see how this will help matters,” the lawyer gritted out, hands clasped behind his back (white-knuckled) as he stared at them.

“We retrace the Gambit’s course, and start searching any probable ports where survivors might have ended up,” Leonard said, far more to Sara than to the other man, who’d served his (meager indeed) purpose.

“All of which has been done already,” that man pointed out in a tone redolent of scorn.

Leonard now deigned to look at him, with a slight smile that said he knew perfectly well how angry the man was and why. “But we’re not going to be searching for a rich man’s son who’s been rescued.” 

“What precisely **_will_** you be searching for?” 

It was Sara who answered him: “A survivor.”


	2. Chapter 2

_‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ _Leonard mused to himself, as Sara writhed beside him a few nights later, caught again in the grip of a horrific nightmare. Her cries were heart-wrenching; her flailing hands, dangerous. His voice was simply not penetrating whatever demon of memory held her in its grip.__

 

_Sara hadn’t entirely understood at the time why Master Queen made such a point of announcing to his crew that she was Ollie’s fiancee. Now, however, she thought she might have an idea...and it terrified her. Because now there was no Master Queen and his fortune to protect her. These men who’d pulled her from the sea had been quite free with their hands. They were rough, and crude, and they stank. Where Ollie’s touches had been teasing and pleasurable, theirs were harsh and cruel. Her dress gaped open where Ollie had unfastened it, and her linen was soaked and clinging beyond all hope of decency. And these horrid men just stared and jeered. She couldn’t understand all the words they said, but their intent was hideously obvious. A hand descended on her shoulder…_

 

But Sara Lance wasn’t that terrified little girl anymore. She lashed out, and her fist collided with a man’s face, garnering a satisfying cry of pain. Disoriented and confused, but determined to defend herself and make them **_pay,_** she scrambled away, putting her back to a wall. Glancing sideways, she saw an assortment of swords, and began to reach for one. 

“Sara, no!” the man shouted. (Tall, and clean, and well kept, utterly unlike those sailors, a tiny voice in the back of her mind pointed out, but she was too caught up in memory to heed it.) He froze, several steps away from her, empty hands clearly in sight. Then, “Amaya! Get in here! We need you!” 

A long few moments passed, then there was a loud thump, followed by some cussing, then the latch popped free and the door burst inward under the force of Mick’s weight. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Amaya demanded from behind him.

“Sara’s having a nightmare. I can’t calm her. I thought maybe a woman’s voice…?” 

Mick caught Amaya’s arm as she started into the room. “Cap’n do that to you?” he asked, staring at Leonard’s face. 

The other man nodded. 

“I don’t know -”

“I’ll be fine,” Amaya assured him, gently tugging her arm free. “I can handle myself.” 

She walked over to where Sara had slid down the wall into a defensive crouch, and knelt down to her level. She did not move to touch the other woman, and Sara didn’t so much as twitch. She stared off into space, gazing in what seemed to be numb horror at something that wasn’t truly there.

Amaya began to speak in low, soothing tone, such as she might use to calm a wild animal. “Sara, it’s all right. You can wake up now. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you here.” 

“Sara!” Sin cried, appearing in the doorway. 

“Sin, no!” Mick caught hold of her - just barely. Striking Leonard, however inadvertently, was bad enough. He knew Sara would never forgive herself if she hurt Sin. 

The girl whimpered, and Sara turned her head in her direction, still with that same glassy-eyed stare. 

“Mick, let her go,” Leonard said in a carefully precise tone. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah,” Leonard replied, never taking his eyes from Sara. 

Mick set Sin down and she ran to Sara, stopping a step or two a foot or so from the blond woman.

“Carefully,” Amaya told her. “She’s not really awake.” 

“But her eyes are open.” Sin bit her lip, studying Sara. 

“She’s having a very bad dream.” Amaya hesitated a moment. “Talk to her. Quietly.”

“Sara?” the girl asked, in a very small voice. 

Sara blinked, eyes focusing on Sin. Then she shuddered and sucked in a deep breath. “What the hell?” 

Sin made a relieved sound and flung herself into Sara’s arms, and the adults visibly relaxed. 

Sara blinked and looked around, taking in three additional people in a cabin whose door had been latched from the inside, bedclothes strewn on the floor, and Leonard…

“Did I do that?” she asked in a horrified whisper. 

“You were having one hell of a nightmare,” Leonard informed her grimly. 

She shuddered again, and moved as if to push Sin away, but the girl only clung tighter. 

“Easy,” Amaya murmured to Sara, “don’t scare her any worse than she already is. You’re awake now. You won’t hurt her, nor anyone else...not unless they really deserve it.” 

“What in heaven’s name is all this commotion?” a testy voice demanded from the passageway.

“Oh, look, there’s someone,” Leonard murmured, a hint of gallows humor in his tone.

“Go on back to your bunk, Perfessor,” Mick said, guessing quite rightly that the last thing Sara needed just then was an even larger audience. “We’ve got this under control.”

“How about a nice cup of tea?” Amaya offered, looking at Sara with a small smile. 

“Or somethin’ stronger?” Mick countered. 

“Stronger,” Sara replied ruefully, “definitely stronger.” 

Mick nodded, and turned to retrieve the jug of rotgut they all knew he had hidden in his quarters. 

Sin snuffled against Sara’s shoulder, tightening her arms around Sara’s neck. She gave the girl a little cuddle and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, sweetheart.” 

“I never saw anyone have a nightmare like that before.” 

“I was...remembering...something that happened a long time ago.” 

“Something bad?” 

“Very bad.” 

Mick returned, taking a hearty swig from an earthenware jug. He offered it to Amaya. 

“No thanks. That stuff tastes like lamp oil.” She shuddered, then mock-glared at him. “Or at least so I imagine.”

Sara, however, accepted the jug eagerly and drank until Leonard cleared his throat. She looked up and blanched when she saw him bent over the washbasin, pressing a bloody rag to his cheek. She swallowed a hard lump of guilt and pain and held up the jug. 

Amaya looked from one to the other, then turned and left the room. Mick was about to follow when he noticed that Sin had fallen asleep curled against Sara. With a peculiarly gentle smile, he lifted Leonard’s blue wool coat from its hook and tucked it over the cabin girl and the captain. Leaving, he pulled the door shut behind him. 

“Leonard…” Sara said quietly.

“In that dream, someone was hurting you.” 

Sara nodded. 

“And you struck out, the way you weren’t able to, at the time.” 

Another nod. 

Leonard took a swig of the liquor and grimaced at the taste. Then he poured a bit on a rag and pressed that to the small cut on his face, clenching his other hand in a fist in an effort to keep from swearing out loud. 

Sara bit her lip as a single tear traced its way down her cheek. 

Leonard walked over, jug dangling from his hand, and slid down the wall next to Sara. He kept his voice deliberately low, to avoid waking Sin. 

“What happened to you in that dream is part of what made you into the woman who saved me, and my sister, and Sin, and God knows how many other people.” He took another drink. “For all that, if I could go back in time, and spare you that, I would.” 

“I know,” she whispered. Her fingers tangled with his as she reached for the jug again, then set it back on the floor, untouched. As appealing as drinking until she passed out seemed right now, she knew she’d need her wits about her in the morning. 

Sara tipped her head slightly and pressed a kiss to Leonard’s upper arm, all that she could reach without disrupting Sin. Leonard felt the warmth of her lips through his sleeve and smiled. He shifted a bit, wrapping his arms around his little makeshift family and holding them close. 

“You can’t be comfortable like that,” Sara protested. 

“I’m right where I want to be.”

* * *

The factor of Moira Queen’s Boston warehouse was a dependable, organized sort of fellow, utterly different from the solicitor (whom Leonard was still muttering about). He read their letter briskly, checked the signature and seal, and immediately began detailed discussions with Mick concerning The Canary’s storage capacity and rates of consumption for various types of goods.

His wife was a plump, motherly sort who made it her mission in life to see that sailors far from home had a few simple, homey pleasures. She took a shine to Sin, plying her with cakes and biscuits and showing her some of the colorful trade goods bound for markets in the colonies and England. The girl, who had had a shadow still hanging over her from before, beamed, soaking in the attention like a flower does sun.

Sara was having a hard time forgiving herself for that shadow...and other things. She kept casting concerned glances at Leonard. The sight of the bruise and cut marring his beautiful face made her feel ill. 

“I’m fine,” he said yet again, then smirked. “Besides, I think it adds to my roguish charm.” He touched her arm lightly. “Sara, I’m **_fine.”_**

Something in the next aisle caught Sara’s eye, and a contemplative smile crossed her face. “I think we can leave this in Mick’s capable hands. Why don’t you see if you can find Sin? I’m not sure where they’ve gotten to.”

He gave her a look that said he knew she was up to something, but went in search of their wayward cabin girl all the same. 

 

***

 

On their way back to the ship, Sin skipped along, her pockets bulging with treats supplied by the factor’s wife. And...was one of those pockets...squirming? Surely not; it had to be her hand. But Sara made a mental note to investigate once they were back aboard The Canary. 

“What are you up to?” Leonard murmured, eyeing the paper-wrapped parcel that Sara carried. 

“It’s a book for Stein. I thought it might be useful for Sin’s lessons. Not everything is about you, you know,” she teased...even if the second book concealed in her pocket was. 

He just smirked at that. Sara could be delightfully transparent, sometimes. 

“Shall we go visit your sister, after we drop Sin back at the ship?” Sara suggested by way of distraction. 

“I’d like that. And you can post that letter to your father.” 

“Leonard Snart, in league with a constable.” 

“In love with a constable’s daughter,” he corrected. 

 

***

 

Once back on the ship later that day, Sara tapped lightly on Stein’s door. 

“Ah, Captain! What can I do for you?” The older man peered at her over the tops of his glasses, studying her face before he glanced at the package she carried.

“I picked this up for you in town this morning,” she replied, offering the large parcel she’d brought from the warehouse, grinning as his expression turned to interest.

The professor’s expression turned to pure delight when he unwrapped a handsome book about animals, a menagerie parading across its leather cover. “Captain! This is magnificent! Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Sara told him, pleased at the reaction. “I thought it might be useful for Sin’s lessons.” 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Martin replied, already turning pages. “And my own research, as well.” 

“Of course,” Sara agreed, rocking back and forth on her toes, hands behind her back. “There is one more thing.” 

He looked up at her, over the rims of his spectacles. “Yes?” 

“I’ve heard that there are islands in the east, where tigers roam free. Is that so?” 

“Well, I’ve never really considered such a thing, but I suppose I could find out.” 

“Please do.” 

Martin paused a moment, then closed the book, studying his captain again. Flights of fancy were not her way, but why…

Sara Lance, he thought, had no idea how much the presence of Leonard Snart had changed her. For the better, for both of them, he decided.

“Of course, captain.”

***

Mick found Amaya in the armory, inventorying the powder, shot, and other munitions that had begun to arrive from the Queen warehouse. 

“I got you something,” he said, with an almost shy smile, pausing just inside the door, then holding out a small package wrapped in sacking to conceal it. Amaya stepped forward to accept it.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, unwrapping a crimson silk scarf. “You...didn’t steal it, did you?” 

“Nope.” He glanced at her. “You know the cap’n’s views of thieving. Paid good coin for it, even though the feller in the warehouse said it counted as cargo, according to the terms of our agreement. But...it was for you, so I wanted to buy it, fair and square. Funny thing - he said the cap’n did the same thing.” He frowned. “Not sure with what…”

“Thank you.” Amaya stretched up to plant a kiss on his ruddy cheek, stopping his musings abruptly. He cleared his throat, as if wanting to say more, she gazed up at him….

“Sin!” they heard Martin calling from the passageway. “Come along, now, and help me get this stowed. Sin!” 

“What’s the matter, Perfessor?” Mick yelled back, moving back to the passageway. (Behind him, Amaya sighed)

“Sin is supposed to be helping me square away these supplies,” the older man grumbled, irritated at being detained from his fascinating new book. He peered down the hall as if a recalcitrant small girl would somehow materialize out of nowhere.

“I’ll find her,” Mick said, moving along towards the crew’s quarters. “Sin!” he roared. 

After a long moment, the girl stuck her face out of her door. She peered at him uncertainly, biting her lower lip.

“Come here,” Mick ordered. 

Reluctantly, she came out, just a bare step outside her cabin, with her hands clasped behind her back. 

Mick knew guilt on a face when he saw it. “What’ve you got there?” he demanded, gentling his tone just a little.

“I...uh…”

“Eeeep!” The noise hadn’t come from the girl, who looked frankly horrified.

“Awright, let’s see it,” Mick ordered. 

Guiltily, Sin brought her hands forward, revealing a tiny, squirming black kitten. The wee thing, unable to get its paws underneath it, lifted big blue eyes to Mick and “eep”ed again again in protest.

“Where did that come from?” Mick’s tone was resigned, but Sin took heart from the lack of recrimination.

“The lady in the warehouse gave him to me.” 

“And does the cap’n know about this?” 

Sin shook her head, clutching the annoyed kitten to her chest.

 

Mick huffed out a sigh of fond exasperation. “Well, I suppose he’ll be good for the rats...eventually. Go to the galley and fetch a little box for him to sleep in. Then hop to it and help with those supplies!” 

“Yes, Mister Rory!”

* * *

Sara was lounging on the bunk when Leonard returned to their quarters that night. She was wearing that filmy little shift, and a very particular smile that had him setting the newly repaired latch on the door immediately.

“Is there some occasion that I’m not aware of?” he drawled. 

“Well, Lisa did mention that your birthday was last week,” she replied, toying idly with the ribbon that held her shift closed. 

“I hadn’t noticed.” He shrugged out of his waistcoat and hung it on the back of a chair, then stepped out of his shoes. “Birthdays are for children. I’m a grown man, you know.” 

“I do know,” Sara agreed, her gaze drifting boldly from his amazing eyes to other, equally pleasing destinations, and back again. 

“And are you meant to be my present?” He sat down to remove his stockings. 

“One of them, perhaps.” She reached under the pillow and drew out a beautifully bound book. 

Leonard stilled. “Sara, please tell me you didn’t get that as some sort of -” he gestured vaguely at his face. 

“I got it because I thought you would enjoy it,” she replied in a small voice. 

Leonard cursed himself for ever doing or saying anything to put that note of hurt in her voice. He stepped over to the side of the bunk and cradled her face in his palms. 

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. 

He bent and kissed the top of Sara’s head, then slid onto the bunk, sitting up against the wall with a pillow behind his back. “Come here,” he invited, tucking her in against his side. He kissed her bright hair again and held out his hand for the book. “Let’s see.” 

Sara handed him the volume, and he examined it carefully. 

“Malory’s ‘Le Morte d’Arthur.’ Sara, this is...it’s splendid. Thank you.” 

He gave her a sidewise glance, and Sara wondered, yet again, how icy blue eyes could smolder. 

“Captain Lance, I wonder if you are aware of just how many tales of adultery this book contains?” 

She gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “I’m certain I don’t know, sir. Perhaps you should tell me about them.” 

He leaned down and carefully set the book on the floor, then turned back to Sara, settling her comfortably against the pillows. He pushed her hair back over her shoulder, then trailed a questing hand down her arm, over her hip, to her thigh. His fingertips caught the delicate material of her shift on the return journey. 

Sara curled her fingers into his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. 

“You were saying?” she murmured, as Leonard kept stroking her thigh, pushing the fabric higher on each pass. 

“Well, to begin with,” he resumed in a rough whisper, “the famous King Arthur was conceived in a night of illicit passion.”

“Was he, really?” Sara teased, pulling Leonard back for another kiss and guiding his hand to that distracting little ribbon.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Atlantic, Retracing the Gambit’s Course to Jamaica**

 

“Tell me about Oliver Queen,” Leonard asked Sara one night, somewhere off the coast of Florida, as they sprawled together in their bed, content and drowsing.

“Why?” 

Sara didn’t sound unhappy, precisely, he thought, but maybe...uncertain? He ran his fingers through her hair again, considering his next words, then tried to make sure his tone stayed light.

“Well, we are devoting the foreseeable future of our lives to locating him.” He gently tugged a lock of her hair. “And, I suppose, I’d like to know more about you, as well.” 

He could feel Sara’s sigh against him, but again, it didn’t seem to be an unhappy one. Just thoughtful and, yes, a bit uncertain.

“I don’t imagine you and Ollie would have gotten along well at all,” she said finally, tilting her head back to look at him. “He was spoiled, and foolish. Any trouble he got into, his father would just pay his way out of it.” 

“I don’t quite see the appeal,” Leonard confessed, after a long moment of silence. He was pleased to hear that he’d chosen the right tone, again, as Sara actually chuckled a little. 

“Ollie was rich, and handsome, and funny,” she informed him. “And...he chose me.” 

**_“That,_** I do understand,” he replied, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. 

Sara chuckled again, a bit ruefully. “You might not have, then. I was hardly what you’d call a model young lady. Master Queen said as much. When he caught us, he introduced me to his captain and crew as Oliver’s betrothed. I didn’t really understand the fuss, at the time.” 

“To protect you from the crew,” Leonard guessed, running his hand through her hair again. “The young master’s fiancee would be strictly off limits.” 

“I know that, now. Afterwards, he told Ollie...he said…” She sucked in a deep breath, trying to continue. “He said, ‘The older one has poise and manners. She would have made a suitable wife.’ He called me a wild thing, and said he hoped Ollie was happy with his choice.” 

There was something dark, and a bit despairing, in her voice, there--not so much now, but the memory of it. It would be very easy to hate this Oliver Queen, he thought, if only for his recklessness with the jewel that was Sara Lance.

“You are my choice,” Leonard reminded her firmly. “My first choice, and my only choice.” 

“And you are mine.” She turned her head slightly, and nuzzled into the open neck of his shirt, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. 

“I understand, now, that Ollie was just after his own pleasure,” she said with a sigh, “that he wasn’t thinking any farther than that, but...he would never have hurt me. Not deliberately.” 

“Thoughtless cruelty can be just as bad as the other kind.” 

A small, sad smile crossed Sara’s face. Leonard wasn’t having that. He cupped her chin in his hand, and ran his thumb over her lips. She kissed the pad of his thumb, then smiled gloriously. He proceeded to show her, with his kisses and caresses, that he was most definitely **_not_** thoughtless, and that her pleasure was every bit as important as his own. 

 

*** 

 

Later, Sara waited until Leonard’s breathing evened out, then slipped from the bunk. She wrapped his coat around herself and curled up in her desk chair. 

There, she relaxed, just a little, as she inhaled the familiar scents of wool and _Leonard._ It wasn’t the same as being in his arms, but at least here, if she had another nightmare, the only one she’d hurt was herself. 

 

***

 

Leonard sighed and shifted in his sleep. After a moment, he frowned, groggily realizing that there was no soft, warm Sara beside him. Again. 

He forced his eyes open, and focused on the huddled form in the desk chair, considering it for a long moment before shaking his head. A minute or so later, he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and padded over to the desk. 

A small smile tugged at his lips--Sara looked utterly adorable, wrapped in his far-too-large coat and absolutely, soundly asleep. He stroked her cheek lightly, then bent and lifted her carefully in his arms and placed her back in the bunk. 

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, and --although he’d taken great care--her eyes fluttered open. 

“You can’t keep doing this,” he told her. “I don’t care if the League taught you to manage without sleep. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“Better me than one of you.” She glanced guiltily at his face, then looked away. 

With a sigh, Leonard slipped back into the bunk, deliberately nudging Sara in against the wall, so she would have to climb over him to get out. She frowned at him.

“Stop it,” he said firmly. “It was an accident. You have got to sleep. You’re the captain. You can’t do your job, and take care of everyone else, if you don’t take proper care of yourself. I know you took Jefferson’s watch last night, and Nate’s the night before. You can’t keep this up.” 

Sara’s face was set in lines of contrary stubbornness, an expression he’d seen on Sin’s small face once or twice. Now he knew where she got it from. Well, if a lover’s concern wouldn’t do the trick, perhaps brutal honesty would. 

“You didn’t wake when I moved you,” he reminded her. **_“That’s_** how tired you are. Will you please get some rest, before you run the ship aground and kill us all?” 

She glared at him, then settled down with a sulky expression, before turning on her side to face the wall, still huddled in his coat. That was fine with him, he thought, as he spooned behind her, effectively trapping her in the bunk. He laid his hand gently on her waist. 

“I’m not in this just for fun,” he murmured. “I’m here for the long haul.” 

Sara didn’t answer, and he felt too much tension in her muscles for her to have drifted off. He sighed and closed his own eyes, hoping at least one of them would get some rest.

* * *

“I think we should stay to the west, Cap’n,” Mick said, tapping the chart with one thick finger, as they convened the following day to discuss their next move.

“I agree,” Sara concurred, leaning over the table to consider the chart. “Those waters to the east have a peculiar reputation. Besides, we’re not interested in where the Gambit went down, just where survivors might have come ashore.” 

“That’s a lot of islands,” Leonard began, then yelped as tiny, sharp claws sunk into his leg through his stocking. He gingerly removed the kitten, who had begun to industriously climb his leg under the desk. “You are **_not_** what I had in mind when I said I wanted to see tigers,” he informed the small beast as he deposited it on top of the desk. 

“Sin!” Sara called, hiding a smile.

“Sin!” Mick bellowed into the passage. 

The cabin girl appeared in the doorway a moment later, looking around a touch guiltily before her gaze lighted on the kitten, who looked rather delighted with its adventure.

“I’ve told you, you need to keep the kitty in your cabin until he’s bigger,” Sara scolded, still trying to keep a straight face as the kitten bounced up to her and mewed adorably, looking for a cuddle. “He’s too small to be out loose.” 

“The rats are bigger than he is,” Mick said meaningfully. 

“So’s the parrot,” Leonard added. 

Sara shot them both an exasperated look in response to Sin’s horrified expression. “Put the kitty in your cabin, and shut the door,” she instructed, handing the fluffy black creature to Sin. 

“What’s his name, anyway?” Leonard asked, trying not to look or sound too interested.

“Soot,” Sin replied, peering at him and struggling to keep the squirming kitten from escaping again.

“Well, get him stowed, then run along to the perfessor for your lessons,” Mick ordered. 

“Yes, Mister Rory!” 

The three adults carefully managed to keep straight faces until their wayward cabin girl and her kitten had departed. 

“Where were we?” Sara said, chuckling quietly. 

Leonard consulted their copy of the inquiry into the Gambit’s wreck, then the map spread out on the desk. “Spanish Wells seems the most logical place to start.” 

Sara nodded decisively. “I concur. Mick, set the course, please.” 

“Aye, Cap’n.” 

Leonard watched his friend leave, then stood and carefully stretched, rolling his shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” Sara asked, crossing over to him and gently rubbing the old injury. 

“Fine. Must be getting old.” He gave her a small smile. “I could do with a nap.”

Sara looked up at him with a crooked little smile, despite the dark shadows under her eyes. “Would you...like some company?” 

Leonard knew a peace offering when he heard it. “I would. Very much.”

* * *

Sara looked up and smiled as Amaya entered the cabin in response to her summons.

“You wanted to see me?” the other woman murmured, pulling her interested gaze away from the weaponry on the wall.

“Yes.” Sara gestured to the other chair. “How are we fixed for supplies?” 

Amaya took the seat. “Excellently well. Mistress Queen was very generous. We could use fresh water, of course, and perhaps some fresh meat, fruit, and bread, to stretch the dried stuff as long as possible. But we don’t really _need_ anything. We haven’t touched the munitions or medical supplies. I understand that according to the terms of your agreement, we could resupply at the Queen warehouse in Kingston, is that right?” 

“It is.” Sara smiled. “And your understanding of the ship, and its operations, is why I’m making an entry in the log, naming you bo’sun of The Canary.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Amaya replied, pleasantly surprised. 

Sara waved off the honorific. “You already do the work, and it’s much appreciated. I thought it should be acknowledged...for whatever that’s worth.”

Her smile grew a trifle wider. “You and Mick make an excellent team. Your skills complement each other perfectly. You have a knack for small details, and he powers through the big ones. I couldn’t run this ship without you.” 

Sara uncorked a bottle of wine that’d been sitting beside her, poured two glasses, and slid one across the desk. 

“Congratulations,” she said, raising hers in salute. 

Amaya did the same. She took a sip, nodded appreciatively, and then eyed Sara speculatively over the rim of her glass. “You know, one could say the same of you and Master Snart.” 

“One could,” Sara agreed, sipping her own wine.

“What’s his title?” Amaya asked curiously. 

“Officially? He’s The Canary’s Man of Business.” 

“And unofficially?”

The crew wondered at the peals of laughter issuing from the captain’s cabin, but they were wise enough not to ask.

* * *

**Spanish Wells**

The Canary was anchored out at the far end of the jetty, and Sara and Leonard had gone ashore. They circulated quietly through the town’s single public house, showing the sketch of Oliver and making discreet inquiries. However, no one much cared about a years-old shipwreck, especially not once they heard that The Canary had just sailed from Boston. 

“Is it true, what they’re saying?” a serving woman asked incredulously, the laden tray in her hands forgotten in her shock. “Is The Deathstroke really gone, and Slade Wilson along with it?” 

“The Deathstroke burned to her waterline in Boston Harbor,” Sara confirmed, lowering the sketch of Oliver before she could even ask her question. “The ship is no more.”

A snort of derision interrupted her. “How would you know, little lady?” a reeking, heavy-set dock hand demanded insolently, leaning over from his seat to leer at her. 

Sara eyed him coolly. “Because I’m the one who burned it.” 

“You from that ship in the harbor? That real fast-looking one?” another sailor asked, in far more respectful tones, from his seat at another table. He’d turned when he’d heard the serving woman’s question.

“Yes,” Sara acknowledged. It’d help not at all to deny it, and it might help their standing to admit it.

“In that case, I’d like to buy you a drink, ma’am, and you, sir,” he added hastily, nodding to Snart. “I seen that ship, once before. We was adrift after a gale. You stopped and give us supplies and canvas to patch the sail - enough to get us to the closest port. I wouldn’t still be here if not for you.” 

Sara nodded her assent and sat down as the man signalled for the serving woman, and Leonard came up to join them.

“What about Wilson himself?” the sailor wanted to know, as the woman brought three glasses to the table.

“I don’t know for certain,” Sara replied, clinking her glass against his, then throwing back her drink. “I saw most of his crew abandon ship. Those who tried to swim ashore were either picked off in the water, or repelled at the docks.” She looked thoughtful. “There was a report of one masked man being taken down by an archer when he tried to come ashore, but the body wasn’t recovered.” 

“An archer? You mean, like Robin Hood?” the man snorted, shaking his head.

“It was a reliable witness,” Sara informed him, in an icy tone that brooked no argument. 

“Even if Wilson did survive somehow,” Leonard cut in, “he’s got no ship and no crew. It’ll be a long time before he bothers anyone else.” 

“I’ll drink to that!” another seaman exclaimed, to a chorus of huzzahs. 

However, there was an older man, seated at a table in the corner. His glass was raised, but he looked more regretful than anything else, staring off into the middle distance at things only he could see. Leonard noticed, and nudged Sara. She watched him a moment, then nodded, got up and moved toward his table. 

“Mind if we join you?” Sara asked. 

The old man shrugged himself free of his memories. “It’s a free island. I think. Has anyone else reclaimed it lately?” 

“Not as I know of,” Sara replied, with a low chuckle, as she took a seat.

“We couldn’t help but notice, you weren’t joining in the universal celebration,” Leonard remarked, joining them with a bottle in hand.

“Well, I’m older than this lot.” The man gestured to the celebrating sailors, shaking his head. “I recollect things they don’t.” 

“Such as?” Leonard asked, gesturing to the old man’s glass with the bottle. 

The fellow held out his glass, and Leonard filled it generously. 

“I remember when folk didn’t shudder at the name of Slade Wilson.” 

“Really?” Sara asked, leaning forward intently. 

“Aye. He was a good sort, long ago.” The man took another drink, then another, appreciatively. “A privateer and adventurer. His ship weren’t always called The Deathstroke, neither. It used to be called The Stroke of Luck. If you seen it, you may have noticed that the end of the name was burnt away, and the word ‘death’ had been added to the front.” 

“What happened?” Leonard asked, refilling the man’s glass without being asked.

“Well, Wilson, he had this woman. He thought the sun rose and set on her, let me tell you. Tiny, pretty, little thing, like a doll, but she knew all that ah...oriental stuff,” he made a vague gesture with his hands, “what could kill a man twice her size. Maybe a bit like you, missy,” he added, eyeing Sara shrewdly. 

“Maybe,” Sara agreed. “What happened to them?” 

“I don’t rightly know,” the old man said thoughtfully. “Don’t suppose anyone does now. ‘Cept, there was this other feller.” 

“Isn’t there always?” Leonard commiserated. 

“I think Slade mighta rescued him from a wreck. Passenger, I suspect. Certainly weren’t no sailor.” The man shook his head. “He had clothes that was probably fine once, and seemed to have some book learning, but no common sense, if you take my meaning.” 

“I do,” Leonard said, nodding in agreement as Sara made a quiet noise next to him.

“What did he look like?” she asked.

“Meh. What do I know?” He shrugged, taking another drink. “ Tall, blue eyes - sorta feller the girls think is handsome. Slade’s girl certainly seemed to think so.”

“Was this him?” Sara asked, sliding the sketch of Oliver across the table. 

The man peered at it. “Well, now...it’s been a good long while, but yeah, I ‘spose it is.” 

Sara and Leonard exchanged glances. 

“What else can you tell us?” Sara asked. 

The old man shrugged. “Not much. The three of them was inseparable for a while.” 

“And then?” Leonard asked. 

The old man sighed heavily. “Like I said, I don’t rightly know. Not many actually live here, you know. It’s a place where ships come and go. Eventually, The Stroke of Luck stopped coming round here. And then, one day, The Deathstroke turns up in the harbor.” He was quiet for a long moment, then shook his head. “Not many survived that day. I traded my leg for this,” he added, gesturing to a wooden crutch that was leaning against the wall. 

Sara pulled several coins from her purse. “Get yourself a good, hot, meal to go with that,” she said, gesturing to Leonard to leave the bottle. 

“Why, thank you, missy. I’m much obliged.” 

Sara grinned and winked before turning away.

“I don’t know whether to congratulate you, or wish you luck,” the old man said to Leonard in an admiring undertone. 

“Both, I think,” Leonard replied, smirking as he added a couple more coins to the pile on the table. 

 

***

 

“So...Ollie and Slade Wilson,” Sara mused, as they returned to the ship.

“You think he was telling the truth?” Leonard asked, reaching out to twine his fingers with hers.

“There’s no real way to tell, but it felt like it,” Sara said thoughtfully. “He had no reason to make most of that up. And it had the ring of truth to it.”

“I agree. Aren’t there stories, something about Wilson, and a friend, and a woman who died?” Leonard asked. 

“Rumors. Like everything else. But it makes sense.” Sara sighed. “Ollie **_was_** a handsome fellow that all the girls liked. He **_was_** wearing fine clothes the night the ship went down. And he had no practical skills whatsoever.”

She looked away, flushing with a bit of shame at the recollection of how, well, _shamelessly_ she’d pursued such a feckless fellow, and expecting some sort of snark in reply. 

“Well...he wasn’t **_entirely_** incompetent. I mean, he did like you.” 

Sara smiled a bit, then her expression froze as she stepped up onto the deck and saw Amaya tending to a messy cut on Mick’s brow. 

“Mick? What the hell?” 

The big man sheepishly shrugged, then passed over a purse, and a watch and chain that looked to be silver.

“What’s all this?” Sara demanded sharply. 

“Contribution to the supply fund. Feller was beatin’ on a working girl. The first lump was fer hittin’ someone smaller than him. The second was fer using that word you don’t like. One of those words.”

Well. There wasn’t much Sara could say to that. 

“Did you two find out anything useful?” Amaya asked, packing the medical supplies up carefully.

“A good deal, as it happens.” 

Leonard walked back to the side of the ship and scanned the area. “Maybe double the watch tonight, just in case Mick’s playmate comes back with friends?” he suggested quietly. But Mick heard him.

“Not much chance of that, Boss,” the big man chortled. “The feller who was beatin’ on the girl may have been too drunk to notice, but one o’ his buddies had heard a few tales of the ship that sank The Deathstroke. I don’t think we need to worry on their account.” 

Reputation aside, this still wasn’t the safest, or most civilized place in the world. “I don’t think we need to go quite that far,” Sara decided, “but whoever’s up here should have a side arm, and be ready to ring the bell if need be.”

* * *

“So, what’s our next stop?” Mick asked the next morning. The night had passed quietly enough, and although the first mate still had a bit of a headache, it seemed there were no long-term consequences to the attention they’d attracted.

“Hispaniola, I think,” Sara replied, taking a sip of her morning tea as they all convened around the charts. “The flibustiers -” 

“The ** _what?”_** Mick demanded. 

“French pirates,” Amaya supplied, nudging him.

“Oh. Why’n’t you just say?” 

Sara rolled her eyes and continued. “The French buccaneers have a sort of colony there. Seems like the sort of place Slade Wilson might have frequented.”

Mick winced as the sun glinting on the water caused his already aching head to throb. “Wait. Why do we care where the guy we just killed used to spend his time?” 

“Because the fellow we spoke to yesterday seemed to think that Oliver was with him for a while,” Sara explained as patiently as she could. 

Leonard clapped his old friend on the shoulder. “You’ll love it there, Mick. An entire settlement of smugglers, thieves, and pirates.” 

“Heh. Sounds like our kinda people.” 

“Or the next best thing.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Trou-Borded, Hispaniola**

 

“Interesting place,” Leonard observed sardonically, leaning on the rail as he gazed out at the makeshift wharves and the slapdash boardwalks that connected them to the shore. 

“How is this place still standing after the storm season?” Amaya wondered, from where she leaned next to him.

“Martin!” Sara called, straightening from her own position at the rail as she watched the professor emerge from belowdecks and look around for the others.

“Yes, ma’am...oh...dear…” his voice trailed off at the sight of a couple of giggling working girls strolling the boardwalk. 

“That would be why I’d like you to keep Sin belowdecks,” Sara replied, amusement in her voice. “There are questions I’m not prepared to answer just yet...and neither are you, I’d wager.”

“That, and the fact that the entire place is a firetrap,” Leonard added helpfully. 

“It stinks,” Mick observed. 

“Duly noted,” Sara snapped, having heard variations on these observations for a while now. “We’re not here for shore leave. We get some information, and we get out again. No one is to leave the ship alone. In fact, no one is to leave the ship without my express permission. Is that clear?” 

There was a hail from the rickety wharf, and assorted hands reached for various concealed weapons. Turning, Sara could see a small crowd gathered on the shore, watching as a single man approached the ship. 

The man on the dock waved a grubby bit of white cloth. “Monsieur le capitaine?” he called, glancing uncertainly at the group at the rail. 

Leonard jerked his chin towards Sara. “Madame la capitaine.” 

There was a stream of rapid-fire French. 

“I didn’t quite catch all of that,” Leonard admitted. 

“He wants to know if this is the ship that burned The Deathstroke,” Martin supplied helpfully. 

“Oui!” Sara shouted back. 

To their surprise, the sailor on the dock swept off his hat and bowed rather floridly. “Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?” 

“Martin, tell him we’re looking for information about a ship called The Stroke of Luck, and a passenger she might have picked up,” Sara instructed. 

Martin spoke to the man for a minute or two, then listened intently. “He says that was years ago.” 

“I know.” Sara’s tone was dry. “I’m still interested.” 

Martin conveyed that information, then awaited a response. “He suggests we try -”

“The tavern,” Sara, Leonard, and Mick said in unison. 

“The tavern,” Martin repeated, rolling his eyes with resignation. 

“Merci, monsieur,” Sara called to the fellow on the dock. 

He bowed again, and departed to spread the happy news that The Canary was not there to kill them all. Sara found it a bit amusing to be on that side of that particular discussion. 

“So, I guess we’re visiting the local pub,” Leonard said, stepping away from the rail.   
“Well, at least…”

“Not you. Martin.” 

“Really?” the scholar replied faintly. “Surely, Master Snart -”

“Master Snart doesn’t speak French nearly as well as you,” Sara replied, in a tone that brooked no argument. “The rest of you, stay out of trouble. I don’t care how friendly the locals seem right now, I want two on watch at all times, armed.” 

Leonard caught Sara’s arm as she moved to depart the ship. “Be careful.” 

She favored him with a lopsided smirk. “Always.”

* * *

“Where are you going?” Mick demanded, looking up from a conversation with Jefferson just as Snart, looking far too nonchalant to not be up to something, sauntered toward the gangplank of the ship.

“Just stretching my legs,” his friend said casually, slowing just a little. “Maybe pick up a little information.” 

“You’re just looking for a card game,” Jefferson accused, sounding a little amused.

“Perhaps,” Snart replied with a half-shrug, pausing to look at him. “I could use a bit of a challenge. Besides, people tend not to pay attention to their words when they’re focused on their cards.” 

“Cap’n said -” Mick began. 

“To stay out of trouble.” 

Mick just shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. ** _You_** get to explain any messes to her.”

 

***

 

Mick was still on watch when Snart returned, whistling tunelessly. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he commented.

“Funny you should phrase it that way,” Snart replied, pausing, with a very particular gleam in his eye. “Tell, me Mick...how long has it been since we planned a heist?” 

“We?” Mick shrugged and eyed him, sensing trouble in the making. “It’s always been you to make the plans. I ain’t got the brains for that. An’ besides, the cap’n said -”

“To stay out of trouble. Yes, I know. I was there.” Snart absently pulled a sparkling pendant from his pocket and studied it. 

“Pretty,” Mick noted. 

“It’s glass,” Snart said with a shrug, as he watched it swing and reflect the light. 

“It’s the same color as her eyes,” Mick said with a sly smile. 

“I noticed.” There was a certain energy that Snart exuded when he was plotting something. He was exuding it now, in spades, as he spun to face his old friend. “What’s the biggest thing we ever stole?” 

“I dunno. The Maximillian emerald, maybe, but that was your heist.”

“I don’t mean big as in valuable. I mean big as in...big.” 

“Snart...you know the cap’n’s views on thieving. What are you up to?” 

“I didn’t steal this,” Snart protested, tucking the shiny trinket back into his pocket. “I won it in a card game. And besides, what I’ve got in mind isn’t so much stealing as ...liberating. And the best part is - no one gets hurt. So - are you in or are you out?” 

The big man sighed. “Sara’ll kill me herself if I let anything happen to you.” 

“I knew you’d see it my way.” 

 

***

Mick got Jax to stand watch--the younger man just shook his head, uttering a sing-song “Captain’s gonna be angry!” Then, against his better judgement, he followed his oldest friend off the ship, heading toward the market.

Snart, with that finely tuned sense of direction of his, wove his way through the narrow streets and, then, the market stalls until he stopped dead in his tracks, lifting an arm to stop Mick, too. 

Then he pointed.

Mick looked, and his jaw dropped open.

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“And we’re going to…”

“Yep.”

“OK, boss. Lead on.”

***

It was somewhat later, after almost all of the market stalls had shut down, and the purveyors of that particular stall had repaired to a particular tavern not so far away. They’d all gotten a couple tankards of ale in them, and were just starting to look around for more exciting activities when a tall man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair stepped in front of their table.

He eyed them, and then waved a deck of cards. 

“You folks look like you might appreciate a game,” he said smoothly. “Any interest? My friend and I are … bored.”

***

“You were cheating, weren’t ya?”

“...maybe.”

“I knew it. No un’s that lucky, not even you. Whadja do? Somethin’ up your sleeve…”

“Mick?”

“What?”

“Shut up and lift.”

A muted “rowr” interrupted him.

“And you shut up, too.”

***

Mick and Snart had just about managed to maneuver their burden onto the deck, when Sara stepped out of the shadows. 

“You know,” she observed conversationally, “for someone who’s so worried about me getting enough sleep, you’re certainly wreaking a lot of havoc on my ship in the dead of night.” She stepped all the way out onto the deck. “What is that?” she demanded, hearing something moving beneath the canvas they’d tossed over...whatever it was that they were carrying. 

“Er...well…” Mick stammered. 

Sara shot him a look, then grabbed the edge of the canvas, revealing the gangly, half-grown tiger inside the crude wooden cage. “Oh my god. Where did you…? **_How_** did you…? **_What were you thinking?”_**

“It’s a tiger,” Leonard said helpfully, lowering his burden to the deck. Damn cat was heavy.

“I can see that. What I want to know is, what is it doing on my ship?” 

“Well,” he prevaricated, smiling at her in what he hoped was an ingratiating manner. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to. “You did say you’d take me to see some tigers.” 

“I did. I **_will._** But where…?” She leaned in and sniffed critically. “Are you drunk?” 

“Don’t think so,” Leonard replied glibly. He knew pretty damned well he’d had more than his usual limit. But he’d needed to keep the crew playing and eager… and betting.

“You’re worse than Sin, the pair of you!” Sara shook her head at them. “That thing will eat us out of house and home! Hell, it might eat **_us!”_**

“It ain’t that big,” Mick offered with drunken insightfulness. Mick had had a _lot_ more than him. “Besides, it’s a cat. We’re on a boat. We’ll catch fishes for it!” 

“Come on, Sara,” Leonard wheedled. He may have batted his eyelashes, though he’d never admit to it. “Look at him. He doesn’t belong in a cage! We can take him to one of those islands and turn him loose!” 

Sara squeezed her eyes shut against an incipient headache. “Generally, crew members who don’t fancy being marooned, or fed to the sharks, consult with their captain before pulling a stunt like this.” 

Leonard hadn’t had nearly as much to drink as Mick, and he had enough sense to realize that Sara was ramping up to full voice. He wasn’t sure his head was up to that. 

“Where did you get it?” she continued. “Is someone going to come looking for it?” 

“Well,” Leonard began thoughtfully, “we might want to -”

An arrow thunked into the deck just short of his toes.


	5. Chapter 5

Sara spun to face their attacker, knife materializing in one hand and pistol in the other. 

“Hey! It’s that Robin Hood guy!” Mick observed happily. 

Leonard grasped his friend’s arm and drew him back out of harm’s way...he hoped. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” a strange voice demanded. 

And yet...that voice wasn’t so strange. More like...half forgotten. Sara opened her mouth to tell the intruder to get the hell off her ship, but those weren’t the words that came out. 

“Who are you?” she asked uncertainly, as an idea formed in her mind. 

The tall figure pushed back his hood. 

“Hello, Sara.” 

“Ollie?” She started to drop her arm in sheer disbelief, then caught herself and trained the pistol on him. “How?” she gasped. 

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, finally lowering his bow. 

“Ollie?” Mick repeated. “Huh. Really thought he’d bought it.” 

“Shut up, Mick,” Sara said absently, eyes trained on the tall, well-armed man standing on the deck of her ship. He seemed far more capable - and dangerous - than the boy she remembered. 

“His mum will be real happy -”

 ** _“Shut up, Mick!”_** Sara and Leonard replied in unison. 

“I’ve heard great things about this ship,” Oliver said, his eyes sweeping the deck, “and how it finally defeated Slade Wilson. And then I find out that these two miscreants are part of your crew? Do you have any idea what they’ve done?” 

“All right,” Leonard said with a sigh. “I admit this wasn’t terribly well-thought-out, as plans go, but -”

Oliver ignored him, continuing to focus on Sara.

“I don’t give a damn about what they took, Sara,” he said. “The crew that they swindled is from a ship carrying opium. And now, because your two friends here decided to ‘win’ themselves a tiger, their overly cautious captain is panicking, the crew is being recalled, and they’re preparing to head out to sea. Have you any idea the kind of damage that cargo can cause to people’s lives?” 

Sara tipped her head to one side thoughtfully. “The Ollie I knew never much worried about causing damage to other people.” 

The tall man sighed. “The Ollie you knew died on that ship. I thought you did, too.” A beat, then... “I’m glad you didn’t.” 

Sara looked in disbelief from her long-lost...whatever he was, to her lover and her first mate with their cageful of tiger and wished **_she_** had a drink. A very large, very strong one. She exhaled slowly, and finally lowered her gun. 

“Martin!” she hollered. 

Even the professor knew enough to respond to that tone immediately, and he hastily appeared on deck with a banyan thrown over his shirt. Fortunately for him (and his dignity), the others were too focused on the intruder to comment on his clearly visible knobby knees, and the tufts of hair sticking up all over his head. 

“Take these two below and sober them up,” Sara ordered, pointing to Mick and Leonard. 

“No,” Leonard said stubbornly, sounding significantly less inebriated than he had a few moments before. “I’m not leaving you alone with...whoever this is.” 

Sara stepped in close enough that she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye. “I’ll be fine. Go with Martin and find coffee. Lots of coffee. I’ll be along in a moment.” 

“I don’t trust him.” 

“Then trust me.” 

“Always,” Leonard answered instantly. 

Sara favored him with a crooked little smile, and he reluctantly turned away and headed below. She sighed softly, then straightened her spine and turned to face Oliver. He was different, she thought. Leaner, more muscular. An air of melancholy brooding had replaced the playfulness that she recalled from her youth. He’d become someone deadly and dangerous. Just like her. 

“How did you survive the wreck, Sara?” His voice wasn’t skeptical, but neither was it particularly warm.

“That’s a very long, and fairly unpleasant story, and I’m not entirely sure that I’m inclined to share it with you right now.” 

Oliver nodded. Fair enough. This wasn’t the girl he remembered looking so deliciously rumpled, right before the Gambit sank, he thought. This woman was beautiful, but hardened and formidable, reminding him of a finely forged steel sword. She also looked as if she might be mentally choosing the most efficient way to kill him. 

“How is it that your crew members seemed to know who I am?” he tried. 

Sara let out a harsh exhalation. “Because your mother commissioned me to locate you.”

She spread her hands at the look on his face. “To be honest, I thought it was a fool’s errand, that I would retrace the route of your company’s inquiry, and return empty handed. And then we chanced upon a talkative old fellow in a tavern, and he described a handsome, rich, young man who’d fallen in with Slade Wilson, apparently at a time before he became the scourge of the seas.” 

Sara quirked an eyebrow and fixed him with a challenging stare. 

“That is a very long, and fairly unpleasant story, and I’m not entirely sure that I’m inclined to share it with you right now,” Oliver said, flinging Sara’s own words back at her. 

Sara shrugged...and then they stared at each other a few more moments.

“How is Thea?” Oliver asked after a long moment, and in a much gentler tone. 

“She’s at a finishing school in Paris. Tommy says she hates it.” 

“I miss them.” 

“You could just go home.” Sara didn’t quite mean her voice to sound so harsh...but she didn’t feel bad about it either.

“It’s not that simple.” Oliver’s words were quiet.

“No, it isn’t,” Sara agreed. 

There was a low whistle, as of a bird - but a bird native to the northern colonies, not the Bahamas - then a man’s harsh whisper, “Oliver?” 

Sara’s weapons reappeared in her hands as a tall, dark-skinned man stepped onto the deck. Silently, Amaya stepped out of the shadows, musket aimed steadily at the intruder. 

“Stand down, John,” Oliver said quietly. 

“I will if they will.” The man’s voice wasn’t angry or tense; it was as if he were simply stating a matter of fact. Which, Sara supposed, he was.

“I said, stand down.” Oliver shot Sara a look, silently begging her to give an inch. 

Which she wasn’t inclined to do. “You first. It’s my ship.” 

“John.” 

The man huffed impatiently, but lowered his pistol. “Felicity was worried when you didn’t come home. Then we saw all that bustle around The Demeter and, well…” 

Oliver cracked a small smile, looking a bit more like the young man Sara remembered. She lowered her weapons and gestured to Amaya to do the same. 

“There was... a complication,” Oliver told the newcomer.

“Isn’t there always? What’s the plan?” 

Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know yet. We’ll have to hire a boat.” 

John snorted a laugh at that. “Good luck with that. We’re running out of captains who are willing to risk their ships on your crusades.” 

“A ship that big can’t go anywhere until the tide turns. Come back in the morning,” Sara said suddenly. “We’ll talk. It is sort of our fault. The least we can do is help set it right.” 

“Thank you,” Oliver replied, after a long moment. 

“Who was that?” Amaya asked, as the two men melted into the night. 

“Long story,” Sara replied, thinking longingly of that drink. 

The tiger chose that moment to chuff and resettle itself in its cage. 

“And what is **_that?”_** Amaya sounded fascinated, crouching down to better examine the cat.

“Longer story. Nate! Jefferson! Secure that cargo.” 

The two young men exchanged slightly terrified looks, then approached the cage warily. 

The cage mrrrrrr’ed at them.

 

***

 

Sara removed her kerchief and waistcoat and slumped down wearily at her desk, resting her head in her hands, still contemplating that drink. There was some wine somewhere in the cabin, she knew, but looking for it seemed like an enormous effort just then. 

She couldn’t blame Leonard and Mick for their shenanigans--not really. Leonard was a master thief, after all, and he’d seen something wonderful and unique-- ** _of course_** he’d concocted a plot to _acquire_ it. And...he was Leonard, and couldn’t bear to see anything locked in a cage-- ** _of course_** he’d want to free it. And naturally, Mick was happy to go along with anything that involved booze and mayhem. 

She didn’t lift her head or open her eyes when the door opened and familiar, quiet footsteps entered the room. 

“I screwed up,” Leonard said quietly. He brushed Sara’s braid over her shoulder and fastened the sparkling pendant around her throat, then bent to drop a kiss on the back of her neck. 

“Well...maybe a little.” She sighed, then chuckled ruefully as she examined the pretty trinket. “I suppose I’m just lucky you didn’t take a fancy to elephants.” 

“They’re bigger, aren’t they? How much do you suppose one might be worth?” Leonard drawled thoughtfully. 

His elegant, capable fingers began to gently knead the tension from her neck. Sara all but purred with contentment when his hands slipped inside the open collar of her shirt and settled on the soft skin of her shoulders. 

“So...Oliver Queen found **_us?”_** Leonard asked. “After all that? Guess we should just be pleased we hadn’t looked farther.”

“Mmm. Seems like.” She shivered pleasantly as his fingers dipped a bit farther down the front of her shirt. 

“He’s different, though. The last time I saw him, he was happy and laughing. We were tipsy, and he...we were…I’d never…” Her voice broke a bit, and she had to struggle for air. “And then later, on the Amazo...”

Leonard stilled, unsure if the feel of a man’s hands was welcome with such thoughts fresh in her mind, and him still slightly smelling of ale. 

Sara, feeling the hesitation, wasn’t having that. She caught his wrist when he moved to pull away, and drew his arm back over her shoulder. She kissed the back of his hand, then pressed it to her heart.

“I’m not that girl anymore. I chose you.” 

“For better or for worse?” 

“Something like that.” 

Leonard’s fingers flexed in a gentle little caress, and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Come here.” 

He straightened and pulled her up with him, taking the couple of steps back, until his knees hit the side of the bunk. He sprawled back, with a bit less than his usual graceful economy of motion, and pulled Sara securely onto his lap. His fingers curled around hers, and his thumb absently stroked the ring he’d given her. 

“You tell me as much, or as little, as you want, in your own good time, all right?”

***

“Morning, Captain!” Sin called through the closed door. 

“Good morning, Sin,” Sara replied quietly, without opening her eyes. Sleepily, she realized that she and Leonard were tangled together, more or less the way they’d sprawled on the bunk last night, and still mostly dressed. There were buttons pressing some places she’d rather they weren’t, but she realized suddenly that she hadn’t stirred all night. “Just leave it outside the door, would you please?” 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

Sara smiled as Leonard stirred beside her. “And how are you feeling this morning?” she asked, running her hand over his close-shorn hair. The tenderness of her touch was at odds with the smugness in her voice. 

“I really didn’t have all that much to drink,” he protested, trying to fix his somewhat bleary gaze on her. 

“Mm-hm. So...why tigers?” she asked curiously, still tracing her fingers along his scalp. He leaned into her touch, not for the first time reminding Sara of a large, contented cat himself. 

Leonard inhaled cautiously, then sat up and fixed a pillow behind his back, once he was sure his head wasn’t going to detach itself. “When I was a boy, I heard tales about them, and they fascinated me - giant cats from faraway lands,” he said. “Then, Louis dragged me into one of his jobs, and I saw a tiger-skin rug in a fine home. I thought, at that point, that that was the saddest thing I’d ever seen...such a wondrous creature, reduced to a thing people walked on.”

“And now?” 

“I think they remind me a bit of you - beautiful, and powerful, and strong.” He pulled her closer, punctuating each of his words with teasing little kisses to her jaw and neck. 

“Flatterer,” Sara said, kissing him lightly in return. 

She gently extricated herself from his embrace and went to the door to collect her tea and pail of hot water. Verdant flew in the moment she opened the door, squawking his signature salute. Soot scampered in seconds later. 

“When did I become captain of a floating zoo?” she muttered, as the parrot perched on the back of the desk chair, and the kitten began to climb the bedclothes.

* * *

Sin stared in fascination at the striped cat in its cage. The tiger, gangly and half-grown, much like the girl, stared back.

“He’s beautiful isn’t he?” Amaya murmured, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder and crouching down to look with her. 

“It’s bigger than my kitty.” 

“Just a bit,” Amaya chuckled. 

“Why’s he in a cage?” 

**_“Because_** he’s bigger than your kitty. I don’t like it, though,” she added under her breath. 

“He won’t always be in a cage,” Mick assured them. “Cap’n’s takin’ us to an island full of tigers. We’ll set him free there. And I think we can do better than this piece of junk - give him a bit more space to move.” He looked up from where he’d been chalking a line on the floor. “There, now. You can look at ‘im all you want, but you stay behind this line, all right?” 

“Yes, Mister Rory.” 

Amaya caught Mick’s hand as he moved to leave. “We **_will_** set him free, won’t we?” 

“We will. Cap’n don’t like seeing things in cages any more than you do.”

* * *

Sara stared at Oliver intently over the rim of her mug. At first, she’d considered holding this particular interview in the galley, haunted by memories of being alone with Ollie in his cabin just before the Gambit sank, but then she decided the hell with it-- it was **_her_ ** ship, and she’d damn well conduct her business from behind her own desk, seated in her own chair.

And if Oliver and his associate noticed that half the belongings in the room were Leonard’s, well that was fine too. (She’d bet they’d guess wrongly about who actually owned what.) 

(Although, as a matter of fact, she’d have been wrong about that one thing.)

“You didn’t **_hear_** that we defeated Slade Wilson, you **_saw_** it. You were there.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver replied blandly, leaning back in his chair and, for just a moment, echoing the insolent boy he’d been.

His--man at arms?--whatever exactly his function was, John Diggle stood behind Oliver’s chair in a rigid, military stance. His face didn’t so much as twitch at Oliver’s words. 

“Sara’s father saw you,” Snart drawled. “I’m guessing you don’t want to start that particular argument,” he continued, buffing his nails on his waistcoat with a smirk. He lounged against the wall behind Sara’s chair with the appearance of indolence...but his eyes told a very different story. 

Sara shot him a look over her shoulder that plainly said “behave.”

“How is your father?” Oliver asked conversationally, ignoring Leonard.

“He’s fine, and don’t change the subject. You were so close to home - why didn’t you let your family know that you’re still alive?” 

“What makes you think it was me?” Oliver shrugged. “I mean, it’s an English colony. I’m sure there are any number of vigilantes who’d choose to adopt the guise of England’s greatest folk hero.” 

Sara tossed the arrow that Nate had dug out of the deck onto the desk. “Maybe because you turned up on my ship, wearing a green hood, and armed with a bow and arrows. And you’re an awfully precise shot. You could have killed any one of us...just like the man whose eye you put an arrow through on the wharf in Boston.” 

“Why would you think that was me?” Oliver reiterated, voice and features alight with innocence. 

Sara leaned forward with a look in her eyes that had been known to send grown men running for cover. “Because we have a witness who puts you in the company of Slade Wilson. We’ve heard stories from multiple sources that Slade Wilson and a friend had a falling out over a woman who died, and then shortly after he went bad, there started to be stories of man described as Robin Hood stepping in and saving people - which sounds lovely, except for the fact that he apparently has little regard for whether the people he takes down live or die.”

She took a deep breath. “We also have a report of an archer in green on the dock in Boston who put an arrow through the eye of a man that was either Slade Wilson or one of his henchmen. Now, start telling the truth.” 

Oliver continued to stare back at her, bland smile firmly in place. 

Sara’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Fine. Get the hell off my ship.” The words were at odds with her casual tone. “I’ll write up my findings and deliver them to your mother’s office in Kingston. I will have fulfilled my end of the bargain, and my crew and I can get back to our lives.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. 

“Oliver, a word?” Mister Diggle muttered. 

Oliver turned in his seat with a rather affronted expression. 

“If you want to pursue The Demeter, you’re going to need a ship,” Diggle told him. “A _fast_ ship,” he added meaningfully. 

“So we’ll hire one.” 

“Not after what happened to the last couple.” 

Sara raised an eyebrow at that. So did Snart, although he remained, uncharacteristically, silent.

“Slade Wilson is no longer a threat to me or anyone else,” Oliver said, voice tight, words terse.

“Because of ** _this_** ship and **_this_** crew,” Digg reminded him. “If you really want to stop The Demeter, you’re going to need their help.” 

“Once you ‘stop’ The Demeter, what exactly are your plans?” Leonard asked intently. 

Oliver shrugged, just a touch insolently, looking back at him. “You people had no qualms about burning Slade Wilson’s ship.” 

“The Deathstroke was a clear and present danger to anyone and anything that came in contact with it,” Sara told him in a flat tone. “I know nothing about The Demeter, its crew, or cargo, and I’m not risking my ship and my people without a damn good reason.” 

“The opium is listed on the manifest,” Oliver admitted. 

Sara just raised an eyebrow, and waited for him to pull a folded paper from inside his waistcoat. She scanned it. 

Leonard leaned down to peer over her shoulder. “Can you read that?” he murmured. 

“Enough.” She looked to Oliver curiously. “How do **_you_** know what it says?” 

“I can read enough to know what’s in The Demeter’s hold, and I have a friend who’s very good with languages. She’ll decipher the rest for me.” 

“I’m guessing you came into possession of this information through...less than honest means,” Leonard challenged. (Trusting that Sara, this once, would not point out that this was the pot accusing the kettle by any stretch of the imagination.)

“I will use whatever means necessary to capture that cargo.” Oliver’s chin was up and he gave the other man a challenging stare in return. 

“Now see, here’s where I start to have a problem,” Sara cut in. (That was simply not a clash that could have any good outcome at this point.) “My ship has a reputation. Maybe it’s a bit more heroic than the actual fact, but at least I don’t have people hunting me.” She leaned forward. “I want to keep it that way. The Canary isn’t designed to capture another ship by force, and even if I could, I refuse to burn it - not without a hell of a lot more information than I have right now.”

She fixed Oliver with a dark gaze full of meanings the girl on the Gambit would never have thought of. “I understand The Demeter is bound for Kingston. So are we. You’re welcome to sail with us. If you can come up with a plan to get the opium out of circulation without leaving a trail of dead bodies that leads back to me, we’ll help you. Otherwise, we part ways at the harbour. Do we have an accord?” 

Oliver exchanged a glance with Digg. “You’re not leaving me much choice in the matter.” 

“You could always start swimming,” Leonard drawled.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Oliver came aboard The Canary, easily carrying a large wooden crate. John Diggle followed close behind, holding tight to the arm of a woman with long blond hair, and bright, curious eyes. She wore a dress of Indian chintz, patterned in bright pink and red flowers, and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. 

Sara frowned, and pulled Oliver aside as soon as he’d set down his burden. “This is not a pleasure cruise,” she hissed. 

“I need Digg with me, and I am not leaving Felicity here alone,” he replied implacably. “Besides,” he gestured to where Felicity was greeting Amaya fluently in her native language, “she can be very useful.” 

There was a gentle and protective expression on Oliver’s face when he looked at the pretty blonde, and Sara felt an unexpected pang...he’d never looked at her that way. 

Then again, she decided, she wasn’t sure she’d have appreciated it if he had. 

Better to have Leonard, and all the challenge and camaraderie that entailed.

 

***

 

“I don’t recall seeing you in Boston,” Leonard said to Digg, sidling up to where the other man leaned against the mast.

“That’s because I wasn’t there,” the other man replied easily. “Oliver managed to sneak away from me.” He shook his head. “He knows I hate it when he does that, but he also knows I’d never leave Felicity on her own.” 

“She must be very important to him,” Leonard observed, privately (very privately) glad the other man wasn’t likely to go sniffing around Sara to reprise old passions. For his sake. He didn’t doubt Sara herself for a second.

“She is. To him, and to a lot of other people. Most folks around here come to her when they need something translated. They’re too afraid of Oliver to let anything happen to her...but there’s always the chance of a new crew in town, or someone getting drunk...he’d never forgive himself.” 

Leonard pressed his lips together to contain a few choices remarks that wanted to come bubbling out. He was glad, for this Felicity’s sake, that the spoiled rich boy seemed to have learned a few things, but...his gaze trailed to Sara…

“What about you, Master Snart?” Digg asked, following that gaze. “You’d acquired a bit of a reputation yourself. All this seems a bit...heroic... for a jewel thief.” 

Leonard straightened to his full height, eyeing the other man. “I never chose that path. There was a time when I seemed to have no other options.” 

“And once you did?”

“I chose Sara. And she chose me.” He nodded to a tattoo on the other man’s arm - _Nulli Secundus_ \- Second to None. “And how does a member of the Coldstream Guards come to be on this side of the world, allied with a vigilante?” 

“I’m not a deserter, if that’s what you’re asking.”

* * *

Somewhat against Sara’s better judgement, Leonard ended up being the one to show Oliver to Nate and Jefferson’s cabin, where two hammocks had been strung for him and Diggle. 

Between the machinations of Sara and Diggle, it was the first time the two men had been alone in each other’s presence. And for Leonard, at least, the discontent had been building for quite a while. And Oliver Queen was not, for all his faults past and present, a stupid man.

“You know, Master Snart, for someone who’s only just met me, you seem to bear me a great deal of ill will. Why is that, exactly?” Oliver asked, as his guide turned away toward the door.

Snart paused, weighed his words for just a moment, and sighed.

“Sara,” he replied tersely, staring at the other man. “I understand that she was maybe too young to entirely understand all that running away with you meant, but I think you knew quite well. What I want to know is, did you--for a single moment--think of anything other than that you wanted a pretty girl along for the trip? I’m certain you could have afforded suitable company,” he said scathingly. 

Oliver winced at that; his father had suggested much the same thing. 

“Did you think of Sara, or her family, or her reputation, at all?” Snart demanded, ire building in his tone.

Oliver closed his eyes against the memory that hadn’t dimmed with time--Sara laying before him, blond hair spread over his pillow, clothes in beguiling disarray, her expression an endearing mix of eagerness and uncertainty; his own giddy awareness that Laurel would **_never_** have let him go so far; and then, scant moments later, Sara screaming his name as she was sucked under the freezing dark water. 

“There are a great many things that I regret, Master Snart, but that one, I think, is a matter for me to settle with Sara in private,” he said finally, his own tone harsh. “Besides, I know your reputation--you’re a criminal. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you never…?” 

“No,” Snart said flatly. “I’m no saint, but I never trifled with an innocent girl. And I never paid for it either,” he added smugly. 

“What makes you think I have?” Oliver shot back. 

Snart just snorted at that. Then...“She trusted you,” he said quietly. 

Oliver had the sense to realize that deadly quiet tone was indicative of far more anger than any shouting could ever convey. 

***

Leonard was quietly, coldly enraged.

If Sara hadn’t gotten on that damn boat, she would never have fallen into the hands of those fucking animals on the Amazo. Snart still didn’t know the entirety of what had happened to her, but he knew enough that if he ever encountered anyone from that scow, he’d make them suffer, consequences be damned. 

“She knew you, her whole life,” he told Oliver Queen, trying to keep his voice down, “and she **_trusted_** you.” 

“Sara was my friend,” Oliver protested, startled out of his facade by the other man’s rage. “I never intended for anything bad to happen to her -” 

“But it did,” Snart ground out.

“And I’m sorry.” Oliver glared at him. “If it’s any consolation, those years weren’t any walk in a rose garden for me, either.” 

“It’s not.” 

* * *

Felicity paused in the passageway that connected the cabins, listening hard, chewing her bottom lip, and wondering if her input would be welcome… or discouraged.

“Sin, you’re not paying attention,” Martin scolded, from within the cabin at which she was listening.

“Don’t see why I have to,” the girl grumbled. “Nobody talks Latin no more.” 

“Well, perhaps it’s not **_spoken,_** as such, ** _any_** more, but Latin is the language of scholarship.” 

That proclamation earned him a long-suffering sigh. 

Felicity carefully smothered a grin before stepping inside the room. “People may not speak Latin,” she said gently, “but they do speak French, and Spanish, and Portuguese, and those come from Latin.”

“How do you mean?” Sin asked, tipping her head to stare curiously at their visitor. 

Martin cleared his throat ostentatiously. “Italy, France, Spain, and Portugal were populated by citizens of the Roman Empire, who brought with them -”

“Root words,” Felicity supplied, now letting that grin blossom. “The French word for love is ‘amour,’ the Spanish is ‘el amor,’ the Italian is ‘amore.’ All from the Latin ‘amor.’”

“So, if I learn Latin, I could understand all those other languages?” Sin asked dubiously. 

“With practice,” Felicity told her. 

“Lots of practice,” Martin added, trying to sound stern even as he smiled at his newfound ally.

“Miss Smoak?” Sara called from the passageway. 

“In here, Captain,” Martin replied, raising his voice just a little.

Sara stepped inside the cabin and manufactured a smile for their guest. “Miss Smoak -”

“Felicity, please,” the other woman interrupted, smiling. 

“Felicity. Oliver neglected to mention that you’d be joining us...”

“He does that, sometimes.” 

Sara continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. Again. “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of passenger accommodations, so we’ve strung a hammock in Sin’s cabin for you.” 

“Thank you. And may I bring my books in here?” 

“Certainly,” Martin replied enthusiastically, beaming at her. “It’s always a pleasure to assist a fellow scholar.” 

Sara nodded and turned to leave, feeling oddly as if she’d lost control of the situation. 

* * *

Later in the day, Oliver resolutely walked over to where Sara was manning the wheel. She flicked a glance at him, but didn’t speak.

“Your...friend...suggested that I owe you an apology.” He took a deep breath, standing almost at attention with his hands behind his back. “I told him that what happened between us was a matter for us to settle in private.” 

“You’re right,” Sara agreed, not taking her eyes from the horizon. “And so’s he.” She turned her head, then, to stare levelly at her old friend. 

Oliver turned his own gaze to the horizon, gathering his thoughts. “My father took me to his ‘social club’ in Boston a few times,” he said finally. “Said it would make a man of me.” 

Sara couldn’t restrain the little huff of disapproval that escaped. 

“But you...you were pretty, and funny, and my own age.” He sighed, sounding almost like the Ollie she’d known for the first time since he’d reappeared. “I just thought...I thought it would be fun to be with you. I never thought beyond that. I swear, I never meant to hurt you, and I’m sorry for everything that -” 

“No,” Sara said flatly. “You don’t get to apologize for **_everything._** You don’t get to take the blame for things you had no control over, and wallow in that.” She shrugged. “You were a thoughtless idiot. That’s what you can take responsibility for - just that. And I was just as much to blame -”

“I was older. I should have known better. I should have looked after you properly, I shouldn’t have gone behind Laurel’s back-”

“Why don’t we agree that we were both thoughtless idiots, and let it go at that?” Sara suggested with a wry little smile. 

“All right,” Oliver agreed after a moment, with a small half smile of his own. “I really am happy that you made it through that storm. I know what happened after was...horrible,” he said, finally settling on a word, “but you have become someone amazing.” 

* * *

That old regret finally confronted, Oliver stepped into Martin’s cabin not long later. The professor wasn’t there, but Felicity was working at the desk, and Sin was seated on the floor, surrounded by a sheaf of papers. 

“How are those translations coming?” he asked her.

“They’d be coming faster if these pages didn’t have bloodstains on them!” she snapped, trying to keep her voice down and not disturb Sin. 

Her glare somewhat missed the mark, as Oliver couldn’t help but smile at the smear of ink on her cheek and the wisps of hair that were escaping their pins. 

“What’s she doing?” he asked, nodding to Sin. 

“Helping me look. I showed her enough characters to pick out certain words, so I don’t have to read through every single page.” 

“Clever,” he said admiringly. 

“Logical.” 

Oliver smiled and adjusted Felicity’s spectacles so they sat straight on her nose, then smoothed her hair back into place. He leaned in and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Just do your best, all right? It’s important.” 

“I know.” She tried to glare at him again, but it didn’t quite work. Again. “It always is.” 

* * *

“Master Snart.”

Leonard paused in the midst of coiling rope on the deck and closed his eyes briefly at the sound of the voice. Then he sighed (inwardly) and straightened. “Master Queen.”

“It’s OK. You don’t have to pretend to be pleased to see me.” Oliver’s tone was dry as dust as he leaned against the mast. “And I’m not going to pretend I particularly like you.

“But,” he continues, “I _do_ respect what you can do. I’ve been hearing about your skills.”

“And?”

“And I understand Sara’s concerns for her ship and crew -”

Snart straightened to his full height. “Keywords: **_her_** ship and crew. Do not even **_think_** of trying to work around Sara.” 

“If I could just finish a sentence?” 

Snart made a mocking little half bow and ‘go ahead’ gesture. 

Oliver glowered at him in response. “As I was saying, I understand Sara’s concerns, and I respect them.” 

Snart raised an eyebrow at that, but remained silent. 

“I understand that she won’t commit to an attack on The Demeter in open water. So we’ll wait until we land at Kingston, and they’ve offloaded their cargo. Digg and I will go ashore and deal with the situation. There will be nothing to tie our actions to Sara or The Canary.” 

**_“That’s_** your plan? ‘Go ashore and deal with the situation?’ How have you managed to stay alive all this time?” Sarcasm dripped from the words. Oliver met it straight-faced.

“Like Sara,” he informed Snart, “I am very hard to kill.” 

Snart’s appraising stare suggested that he might just be trying to figure out just ** _how_** hard. “And just how do I figure into this little excursion?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. 

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, then shut it abruptly. He huffed in a breath, then plastered that bland smile back on his face. “Master Snart, let’s begin this again. When we land in Kingston, Diggle and I will very visibly disembark and set a trap to capture that cargo of opium, out of sight of the waterfront, where our activities cannot be traced back to The Canary. 

“You have the reputation for being an expert at planning and executing thefts with great stealth,” he continued. “ Will you help us?” 

“Why is this so important to you?”

Oliver sighed heavily. “You’ve heard that Slade Wilson was my friend? And that he wasn’t always a bad person?” 

Snart nodded, intrigued despite himself.

“It was...complicated...but one of the major factors in Slade’s downfall was a bad batch of opium.” 

“It’s all bad,” Snart said flatly. 

“Finally, something we agree on,” Oliver replied, cracking a grin. “But this was...contaminated, somehow. Slade was badly injured. We gave him the opium in order to treat his wounds, but it...changed him.” 

“Made him into the monster that killed Sin’s father, and god knows how many other people, and tried to burn Boston to ashes?” 

“Yeah.” 

Snart stared at the other man in silence a long moment, then nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Let me talk it over with Sara.” 

Oliver raised an eyebrow at that. 

“I don’t go behind her back...and she doesn’t go behind mine,” Snart said with a thin smile. “Something you might want to keep in mind in conducting your own...affairs. If nothing else, at least I can come up with something better than ‘leave the ship and blunder around out there.’” 

“I do not… ‘blunder.’”

“Right,” the former crook snorted, turning away from him in a clear dismissal. “Sure you don’t.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Global Tiger Day, here's our latest chapter - guest starring a tiger!

**Kingston, Jamaica**

 

Sara sat back in her chair and surveyed the three men before her. “I’m not entirely sure I heard that right.” 

Snart sighed. “It’s not actually that complicated.” He shrugs, fixing her with an intent gaze she might almost call pleading. “You’ll be very visible here, aboard the ship, out in plain sight. We wait until nightfall, and the three of us will go ashore and track The Demeter’s cargo.” 

“And why am I not being included in this little adventure?” Sara asked sharply, leaning toward him and utterly ignoring Oliver and Diggle, who glanced at each other uncomfortably.

“So that you and the ship won’t be implicated,” Snart replied patiently. 

Sara sat back and gazed at him, then shook her head. “Oliver, would you and Mister Diggle please excuse us?” she said quietly. 

Oliver, looking vaguely relieved, nodded and rose. Digg followed. 

Sara waited until the door shut behind them. “Why?” she asked Leonard then, still quietly. “Why are we not just putting the three of them ashore and washing our hands of this?” 

Leonard looked down at his hands for a moment. “Nothing good ever came of opium.” 

“No argument.” 

“And maybe if I go along, I can help keep the body count down.” 

“And maybe you can’t!” Sara heard her voice rise just a little and stopped, sighing. “Opium is bad,” she continued after a moment, “the people who deal in it are worse.” 

“This is what I do, Sara.” Leonard spread his hands out in front of him. “Make the plan--get in, get out, don’t get caught, and don’t drop any bodies.” 

“Uh huh.” She smirked at him. “And what about ‘make the plan, execute the plan, expect the wheels to come off the wagon, throw away the plan?’”

Leonard ignored her teasing commentary on his often-stated motto, continuing to look at her seriously. “I think they stand a better chance with me along.” 

“So do I.” She stood and walked around the desk. 

Leonard stood to face her and reached out to finger the pretty glass pendant Sara wore. “You should have a real sapphire.” 

“I like this just fine,” she countered. She ran her hand lightly down his chest, toying with one of the buttons on his waistcoat. “Be careful.” 

“Aren’t I always?” 

“You are--well, mostly--but those two…” her voice trailed off. 

“Mister Diggle seems like a dependable sort. It’s your former beau I’m not too sure about.” 

“Try and keep him out of trouble...and don’t hurt him!”

Leonard raised an eyebrow at that, having his own opinions about a few bumps and bruises being marginally suitable payback for some of the things that had happened to Sara. 

“Well...not unless he really deserves it,” Sara amended, as though reading his mind. 

She looked up at Leonard through her lashes, then abruptly curled her fingers into his waistcoat and pulled him in for a fierce kiss. She pressed her forehead to his, after, trying to catch her breath. “Come back to me. Whatever else happens...you come back to me.” 

“How could I not?”

* * *

Sara, restless and walking the ship after Leonard’s departure at twilight, found Sin in the cargo hold, admiring the tiger. She crouched down beside her young friend to watch the young cat, which stared back with big amber eyes.

“Why can’t he come up on deck, like when we were at sea?” Sin wanted to know, glancing up at her. “He doesn’t like the cage.” 

“I know.” Sara squeezed her shoulder. “I don’t like keeping him in the cage, but we can’t afford to draw unfriendly attention right now. Do you understand?”

Sin nodded, chewing her lip. She made a little purring noise at the cat, which responded in kind.

Sara looked at her with a slightly sad smile. “I know you like him, but try not to get too attached, all right? After we’re done here, we’re going to take him to an island and set him free.” 

“What kind of an island?” 

“One with trees and rivers and lots of other tigers.” 

The girl thought about that a moment, then nodded. “I think he’d like that,” she said decisively.

Sara hid a smile at her seriousness. “So do I. Now, go and find the professor for your lessons.” 

Sin sighed, but clambered to her feet and departed. The tiger made a disconsolate sort of noise when she left. 

“Don’t worry,” Sara told the cat whimsically, “you’re going home soon.” 

The tiger chuffed again when Sara left. Then he stretched, and padded over to the door of his cage and began pawing at it. 

***

Sin leaned her head on her fist glumly as Martin continued a lecture about some king of someplace or other who did something a loooong time ago. Kings were really much more interesting when Master Snart was reading about them from his poetry books. A flash of movement from the corridor caught her eye, and she turned her head just in time to see a striped tail pass by. Grinning, she bounced to her feet and after the tiger. 

“Sin! Sin, come back here at once!” Martin called irritably. 

The cat, meanwhile, had found his way to the deck. He was delighted to find himself out in the open air again and chuffed happily, rolling on his back on the deck. This new set of humans had provided him with a much larger - and cleaner - pen, but it was still far too small, at least as far as the growing tiger was concerned. 

“Stripey cat!” Verdant taunted from the rigging - _very_ high in the rigging. 

The tiger rolled to his feet and began to pace around the base of the mast, trying to figure out how to get to the bird. 

“Sin, did you let him out?” Mick demanded. 

“No, sir! I was with the professor. I just saw him go past.” 

“Oh, fer… Awright. Amaya?” 

“On it,” the bo’sun replied, smiling as she began to chivvy the young cat back below. 

“And I think it’s time you were in bed, missy,” Mick added. 

“Aw, Mister Rory!” the girl whined. 

“Now, Sin,” Sara said implacably as she arrived on deck. She really wanted the girl below decks, where it was at least marginally safer, until Leonard was back aboard. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Sin said meekly, knowing not to trifle with that particular tone from the captain. 

No one noticed the three swarthy and unkempt sailors hanging back in the shadows of the dock.

* * *

Felicity had lasted about fifteen minutes swinging uncomfortably in the hammock her first night aboard before Sin had happily offered to trade sleeping situations. Now, she was curled in the mercifully motionless bunk with Soot, who still couldn’t figure out how to negotiate the hammock. (And was an equal opportunity cuddler.) 

“How many languages can you speak?” Sin asked curiously, from where she gently rocked back and forth in the hammock, which was still a novelty.

Felicity thought a moment, then answered as honestly as she could. “I’m not sure. I can read more than I can actually speak, and some of those are dialects.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Languages that are **_really_** closely related.” She stretched a little, scratching the kitten’s ears as he stretched, too.

Sin peered at her. “Like Latin and French?” 

“More like Basque and Catalan. Those are languages spoken in Spain,” Felicity added, anticipating the next question. 

“Will you show me?” 

“Of course.” Felicity held up a hand to forestall the _next_ question. "In the morning.” 

Sin was quiet for a time, mulling over the idea of a clever, pretty lady who wore flowered gowns, but still seemed to command almost as much respect from the gentlemen as Sara. 

Felicity was starting to doze when Sin spoke again. 

“You’re very smart.” Her tone was a odd mix of confused and admiring. Felicity wasn’t entirely sure how to take that.

“So’re you,” Felicity told her gently.

“Really?” 

“Really really.” 

Felicity was nearly asleep again when quiet movement in the cabin caught her attention. She cracked her eyes open to see Sin slip from the hammock. 

She wondered what the child was up to. There was a chamber pot in the cabin and she couldn’t imagine that anyone wanted her wandering about in the dark--not in this place, and certainly not with what Oliver, Digg, and Master Snart were up to. Moreover, she was nearly certain that Sin had done this before. 

Mind made up, Felicity gently displaced Soot and swung her legs over the side of the bunk. 

There was a lantern hanging in the passage, and it swung gently with the motions of the ship, casting shadows on the walls. Felicity hung back in the shadows and watched Sin emerge from the galley. Of course--why wouldn’t a growing girl want a midnight snack? But Sin didn’t head back to her cabin. Instead, she disappeared into the cargo hold. 

Felicity wondered what on earth the girl was up to. Although she was very sleepy, ultimately, her curiosity won out. She followed at a distance, then hung back in the doorway of the hold.

Sin had crept considerably closer to the tiger’s cage than Mick’s chalk line on the floor. “Here, kitty,” she whispered coaxingly, holding out a piece of salt cod. 

The tiger yawned and made a low, rumbling sort of purr, then got to his feet to sniff at the proffered treat. Felicity was wondering if she should intervene--as adorable as the clumsy, half-grown cat was, he still had teeth and claws, and the first mate had put that line on the floor for a reason. She was so engrossed in watching Sin and the tiger that she didn’t realize anyone was approaching, until a none-too-clean hand was clapped over her mouth. 

She bit it, and then spit as the hand jerked away, wishing for a very strong drink. When the ruffian let go, muttering words she was glad Sin couldn’t understand, Felicity sucked in a deep breath and screamed at the top of her voice for help. 

“Sara! Mister Rory!” Sin yelled too, as the tiger decided to add his voice to the cacophony with a yowl.

The intruder--and another accompanying him--headed for Felicity with unpleasant intent. Sin gave an unholy screech and, running toward them, jumped up on one’s back. Felicity used the distraction to grab a broom that was in the corner and swing wildly at the second attacker. 

Sin shrieked again, clinging like a barnacle to the first man’s back. 

“Whatever is going on in here?” Martin demanded, appearing in the doorway. “Captain! Mister Rory! Come quickly!” 

The man Sin was tussling with finally managed to shrug her off his back, and turned on her with a pistol. 

“No!” Martin yelled, jumping in front of the girl and colliding with her attacker.

The two men tumbled into the tiger’s cage, jostling the door enough for the cat to squeeze out. The tiger didn’t care for the sight--or smell--of the men who had taken him from his home and kept him confined in a small, dirty cage. He roared and expressed his displeasure with the other one of his former captors--right in a rather sensitive portion of the man’s anatomy. Felicity followed up with a whack across the man’s head, and he wisely decided to depart as fast as he could limp. 

The pistol Martin and the other man were struggling over discharged, and the tiger scampered out the door. 

“What the hell is going on down here?” Mick roared from the corridor. Then he frowned, hearing sounds of a scuffle coming from overhead. “Amaya, catch that cat. Jefferson--grab a musket and go see if the cap’n needs backup. Now! Move!!” 

He burst into the hold, pistol drawn. “You alright, Miss?” 

Felicity nodded, broom still clutched in her hands. Sin was curled in a corner, shaking and dazed from her fall. 

Martin and the other intruder lay in a tangled mass of limbs on the floor, where a great deal of blood was pooling. “Nate! Get down here!” Mick bellowed, then knelt beside the two men. “Perfessor?” he asked carefully. 

“If I could have a bit of assistance?” Martin asked in a faint voice. 

Mick roughly shoved the motionless body of the intruder off the professor and helped him sit up. “How much of this is yours?” he asked, eyeing the bloodstains on the older man’s clothing. 

“I believe it’s all his,” Martin said in a voice that was clearer, but shaking. “I also believe I’m going to be ill.” 

“All right,” Mick said with a gentleness he usually reserved for Sin. “Nate, help the perfessor up top to get some air, would you?” 

“Yes, Mister Rory.” 

“I want Sara,” Sin whimpered. 

“Come on, then,” Felicity said, holding out a hand. “Let’s go find her.” 

***

Jefferson fired a few musket balls after the Demeter’s second crewman, who was hobbling away as fast as a sizeable wound in his buttocks would allow. 

Sin wriggled away from Felicity as soon as she saw Sara. 

“Report!” Sara barked, managing to sheath her dagger just before Sin crashed into her. 

“One dead in the hold, and that one over there,” Mick said, arriving on her heels and nodding towards the rapidly retreating man on the dock. 

“And that one,” Sara said grimly, indicating a still form on the deck. 

She slumped back against the wall, one arm wrapped comfortingly around Sin, who clung to her, sobbing. The other arm hung limp at her side, bleeding freely. Jefferson approached her worriedly, but she jerked her head towards Martin, who had vomited over the side and was now staring in shock at his hands. 

“Amaya, get the cat back in his cage,” Sara directed. 

The cat in question was curled in a coil of rope, smugly washing one of his front paws. 

“Yes, Captain!” 

“There’s so much blood,” Martin was mumbling, still staring at his hands.

“Come on, Professor,” Jefferson said gently, approaching him. “We’ll go below and wash your hands real good, maybe get you a clean shirt and a nice cup of tea.” 

“Brandy,” Sara suggested. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The good stuff,” Mick added. “Get the bottle from Snart’s chest.” 

Jefferson nodded, and carefully led the older man below. 

Nate approached diffidently. “Ma’am, we should really tend to that arm.” 

Sara looked to her first mate, who was reloading a musket. 

“Go on,” he said in a gruffly gentle voice, “Amaya will be back as soon as she’s got the tiger squared away.” 

Sara nodded, closing her eyes wearily for a brief moment, before straightening up and drawing her captain’s persona around her like a shield, trying to project the strength Sin needed just then. 

“Come on...let’s go below.” She paused before Felicity. “Thank you,” she said, simply and sincerely. “For taking care of Sin.”

Felicity smiled. “I’m just glad I could help.” 

“I expect you’ve earned a bit of that brandy, too,” Sara said with a tired smile, leading Sin below. 

Felicity shivered slightly and wrapped her arms around herself. 

Mick flushed, then shrugged out of his waistcoat and offered it to her. 

“Thanks,” Felicity mumbled, slipping the rough garment on over her shift. 

“Thank you,” the big man told her. 

Felicity favored him with a genuine, sparkling smile, huddling in the coat. “Sin is very important to all of you, isn’t she?” 

“She is,” Mick told her, seriously. “She’s a tough little thing, to have survived everything she has.” 

“She gives you hope.” 

“Yeah.” Mick looked at her with a certain burgeoning respect. “You did real good with that broom. So I hear.”

“I was terrified. I’ve never done anything like that before.” 

“Sara could maybe show you some moves with a proper staff.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Felicity!” 

The sound of footsteps on the deck behind them startled them both. Then Felicity smiled.

“Oliver!” She turned and flung herself into his arms. 

The archer hugged her tightly for a moment, then stepped back slightly. He pushed a tangle of hair back from her face and frowned at her state of undress. “What are you doing up here?” 

“We had a couple of late night visitors,” Felicity replied, keeping her tone as light as possible. 

“Mick?” Snart asked quickly, approaching behind them and eyeing the muskets and blood spatters on the deck. 

“Couple of fellers from The Demeter, looking to take their tiger back. Sin was pretty shook up, and Sara-”

Snart swore. Then he turned and headed below deck.


	8. Chapter 8

Leonard entered the cabin and quietly shut the door behind himself. He exhaled softly, releasing an immeasurable burden of tension at seeing Sara and Sin curled together in the bunk. The girl’s face was tear-stained, and her hand was clutched tightly into Sara’s waistcoat. He brushed a hand, feather-light, over Sin’s messy hair, then bent and dropped a kiss to the top of her head, then Sara’s. 

Soot lifted his head from the crook of Sin’s arm and yawned and blinked sleepily. Leonard smiled in spite of himself and scratched the top of the kitten’s head. 

Moving carefully to avoid waking the captain or the cabin girl, Leonard removed Sin’s shoes, absently noticing that they were quite snug - they’d need to attend to that while they were in port. Sara’s eyes fluttered open when he slipped her sandals off. He laid a finger over his lips, nodding towards Sin. 

Sara sighed softly and settled herself back into the pillows, wrapping her good arm a bit tighter around Sin. Leonard frowned, then stepped over to the washbasin to dampen a bit of linen. He gently cleaned a scrape on Sara’s forehead, then ghosted a kiss over the small injury. Sara tipped her head and bumped her nose against his, hoping to coax a smile, or perhaps another kiss. 

Leonard perched on the edge of the bunk and carefully lifted Sara’s arm, pushing up the torn sleeve and examining the bandage. He wiped some spattered blood from her arm. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

“Not your fault,” she replied firmly, still keeping her voice low so as not to disturb their slumbering cabin girl. She curled her fingers around his arm, letting him feel the strength of her grip. “Come to bed.” 

“You three didn’t leave me much room.” 

“You’re a clever fellow. You’ll manage.” 

Leonard smirked a bit as he stepped back to the desk to empty his pockets and step out of his shoes. He shrugged out of his waistcoat, anticipating the complaint of “buttons.” He blew out the lantern, then stepped over to the bunk. 

Sara shifted a bit to give him some room, and Leonard sat down, trying to fit himself onto the bunk. He ended up with his feet dangling over the side, but he did manage to settle Sara against his chest without jostling Sin. He was quite proud of himself for that accomplishment. 

“Is she all right?” he murmured, resting a hand against the girl’s hair.

“Scared, more than anything else,” Sara whispered back, tipping her head back to peer at him in the dark. “But uninjured. Thanks to any number of people, including Martin and Miss Smoak.”

“I’m-”

**_“Stop._** It’s fine. We’re fine. Your damn tiger is fine,” she added, still trying for that smile. 

Leonard ran his hand lightly over her wounded arm and pressed his lips to her hair. “You two mean more to me than any tiger, or any...anything...you know that, don’t you?” 

“Mmm,” Sara hummed drowsily, curling further into him.

Sin whimpered in her sleep, and Leonard laid a gentle hand on her back, fingers tangling with Sara’s. “Hush, love...we’ve got you.” 

***

Leonard woke to the sensation of Sara’s hair tickling his face, and Soot industriously washing his hand with his little pink sandpaper tongue. He rather regretfully extricated himself from the cozy tangle in the bunk and padded up on deck to attend to some morning necessities. 

When he returned, he set his mug of coffee on the desk and gently nudged Sin awake. As she blinked at him, he caught her under the arms and swung her up and out of the bunk. The minute her feet hit the floor, she flung her arms around his waist in one of her patented tackle hugs. 

The tall man and the little girl just stood like that for a moment, the former stroking the latter’s hair.

“All right?” Leonard asked quietly after a while.

Sin nodded, heaving a deep sigh.

“Good.” Leonard took a step back, squeezing Sin’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, then fetch Sara’s tea and some warm water so she can wash?” 

She nodded again, then darted out the door. 

Leonard turned back to the bunk, surprised, and a trifle concerned, that Sara hadn’t stirred yet. He perched on the edge and carefully examined her arm, noting thankfully that it didn’t seem hot or inflamed. He stroked Sara’s hair back from her face, then pressed his lips to her forehead, partly to see if she was feverish (she was not), but also because kissing Sara in any fashion was one of his very favorite activities. 

Finally, she blinked and smiled hazily at him. “Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?” 

“Sleepy.” 

Leonard frowned slightly--that wasn’t like her. “Well, I suppose all of this was bound to catch up to you eventually,” he managed lightly, wondering if whoever tended to her arm last night might have given her rum--or perhaps something stronger--for the pain. “Sin’s gone to fetch your tea. Why don’t you stay here until she gets back?” 

He moved to get up, but Sara caught his sleeve. “Stay with me?” 

“Always,” he replied, sliding back into the bunk beside her. 

“And how did last night’s adventure go?” Sara asked, stretching, curious despite her fatigue. 

“Well, my part proceeded impeccably.” 

“Naturally.” 

“Of course. It’s amazing how much water can get in through one little hole in the hull. They’ll need to beach the ship to fix that,” he said gleefully, turning his head to smirk at her.

“That’s never fun,” Sara agreed drily. “But it may also serve to cover the two missing crew. It’s not unheard of for men to jump ship under those circumstances. She eyed him. “You said _your_ part proceeded impeccably. What else happened?” 

Leonard sighed and settled Sara a bit closer in his arms. “If your friend Oliver had told me he wanted to ransack the captain’s desk, I would have worked that into the plan. He relies too much on sharp, pointy objects to get his way.” 

Now it was Sara’s turn to sigh. Oliver’s problem, she thought, was that he’d been getting his own way his entire life. 

“Rest, if you want,” Leonard suggested, delicately combing his fingers through Sara’s hair. “There’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“Mmm...might just do that…” 

Leonard chuckled softly, the sound a gentle rumbling under her cheek. He called a bit more poetry to mind and began to whisper.

__

_“Now therefore, while the youthful hue_

_Sits on thy skin like morning dew,_

_And while thy willing soul transpires_

_At every pore with instant fires,_

_Now let us sport us while we may…”_

* * *

____

Later that day, somewhat recovered after rather more sleep than was her wont, Sara wandered down to Martin’s cabin to check on him. She was surprised to hear laughter coming through the open door. 

Peering inside, she saw Felicity and Sin seated at the table, poring over assorted documents, with a few different dictionaries open before them. 

“You two look busy,” she remarked, taking a hesitant step inside. She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the other woman, but Felicity had helped protect Sin and the ship, and she’d earned a level of trust.

“Sin’s been helping me with these documents,” Felicity said, glancing tentatively at her. “I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not. Languages are a very valuable tool.” She glanced around for the cabin’s usual occupant. “Where’s Martin?” 

Felicity’s expression dimmed. “Up on deck, I think,” she said carefully, glancing at Sin.

“I’ll go find him. Carry on.”

* * *

Felicity had been correct. Sara soon found Martin leaning on the ship’s rail, staring out at the water. 

“How are you?” she asked carefully, coming to stand beside him. 

There was a bit of a silence, then: “I don’t quite know,” Martin admitted, still looking a bit pale and shaken. 

“That’s entirely understandable.” 

Martin carried on as if he’d never heard her. “I’ve never...I mean, I’ve fired a musket when I had to -”

“Badly,” Sara interjected, trying to coax a smile. 

“I suppose.” He gave her a dubious glance. “It’s one thing to fire a musket at another ship, but another entirely to take a man’s life directly.” 

Sara had long since made her peace with that occasional necessity. But she remembered, as if from eons ago, when she felt as Martin did now, and why.

“I know,” she said gently. “And I know there’s nothing I can say to make it easier, except that Sin probably wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for you, so thank you for that.” 

Sara stepped a bit closer and squeezed the old man’s arm, then, after a moment’s hesitation, pressed a kiss to his cheek, earning herself a look of surprise.

“Thank you,” she repeated, surprised to find a few tears welling up. “Thank you.”

* * *

Sara and Leonard were enjoying a few moments peace--and a round of cards--  
not all that long later when a knock sounded at their door. 

“Come!” Sara called, setting her hand down without much regret. (Leonard had been distracting her again.)

Felicity appeared, stepping hesitantly into the cabin, followed by Oliver. Leonard hastily vacated his chair and held it for her, while Sara swept the cards aside.

“What can we do for you?” she asked, folding her hands on the desk. 

“Felicity finished translating that batch of documents pertaining to The Demeter, and its cargo,” Oliver started.

“I would have finished sooner if the pages weren’t ripped and covered in blood,” Felicity sniped in Oliver’s general direction. 

Sara closed her eyes. “Please tell me that’s not what Sin was helping you with,” she said with, she thought, remarkable patience.

“Well…” Felicity looked thoughtful. “Yes...but not the bloody pages. I did those myself.” 

“Felicity!” Oliver said sharply, apparently annoyed at the delay. Felicity merely rolled her eyes at him.

“There was something interesting in those documents?” Leonard prompted. 

“Yes,” Oliver replied, drawing himself up. “It turns out that The Demeter is one of Malcolm Merlyn’s ships...and the opium belonged to him.”  
Sara made a noise of distaste, but Leonard leaned forward. “Where was that cargo bound?” he asked intently.

“Home,” Oliver said simply. Sara noted his choice of word.

“Well, it’s not going to do any damage now.” Leonard mused, leaning back. Neither would The Demeter, as it happened...not for a while, anyway. 

“Not that particular cargo, no.” Oliver sounded reluctant to admit it. “But I imagine there’s more.”

“And what are you planning to do with this bit of information?” Sara wanted to know, correctly interpreting that reluctance.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Oliver admitted after a moment’s pause. “I’ve known Malcolm my entire life. He’s my best friend’s father. He was my own father’s best friend and business partner. I...I just don’t know.” 

“Is there any chance this could be happening under Merlyn’s name, but without his knowledge or consent?” Leonard wondered out loud, even as he had a pretty good idea what the answer would be. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Sara replied, before Oliver could. “Malcolm Merlyn is not the sort of person to let things slip.” She shook her head. “For a while, maybe, right after his wife died, but when he came home again, he’d changed. He runs his company with an iron fist. Nothing happens in his name without his approval.” 

“And so?” Leonard prompted. 

“And so, I think it’s time I went home,” Oliver said quietly.

* * *

“Sara!” 

Sara, who’d just emerged onto the deck with Leonard at her heels, smiled as she realized it was Bartholomew hailing her from the wharf. Turning and shading her eyes, she saw that The Flash was anchored nearby. 

She and Leonard waved and waited for Bartholomew’s crew to wheel their cart closer to The Canary 

“I’ve got something for you!” the younger man called, picking a somewhat large parcel from the items his crew was bringing ashore. “I’d thought to deliver it to the Queen offices, but this is better. How are you faring?” 

“We’re well. And you?” Sara asked, reaching for the package and huffing impatiently at Leonard when he intercepted it. 

“That passenger you referred to us earned us a very handsome commission.” Bartholomew grinned. “I’m in your debt.” 

“It was our pleasure,” Leonard assured him. 

“In fact, I think we might be able to send a bit more business your way. Are you returning home?” Sara asked. 

Bartholomew shrugged, looking intrigued. “We certainly can.” 

“Good. How’d you like to be the captain who brought Oliver Queen home?” Sara said with a grin. 

“You **_found_** him?” 

“It’s a long story,”Leonard told him. 

Sometimes, tales were even better than money. Bartholomew tried not to look too eager. “Perhaps after I get my business settled, you might tell it to me...over a pint or two?”

* * *

“What did your mother send us?” Snart asked later, curiously, leaning his chin on Sara’s shoulder to see the contents of the parcel she was unpacking. 

“Funny you should phrase it that way,” Sara chuckled, handing Leonard a soft and wooly blue muffler that had his name pinned to it. 

A sweet-smelling sachet fell out when he unrolled it, and Soot pounced on that gleefully. 

“Hey, that’s mine!” Sara protested, retrieving it after a brief tussle with the growing kitten.

“Well, I’ll certainly appreciate this once we get a bit north of here,” Leonard said genially, even as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. 

“Sin!” Sara called, holding up a pair of red felt mittens. 

“For me?” Sin asked, appearing almost instantly in the doorway.

“For you. My mum sent them.” 

“What’s this?” Leonard asked, poking at the largest item in the package. It was wrapped in brown paper and had a letter pinned to it. 

Sara frowned, then unpinned and opened the envelope, pulling a few pieces of paper out.

_“Dear Sara,”_ she read, _“In all the stories I’ve heard of you, and your adventures, I noticed something odd. Sailors describe a swift and light ship, captained by a woman who is a brave and splendid fighter, but they never seem to know its name, or yours, and I noticed that you have no colors, so I took the liberty to make you your own standard._

_“I know that canaries are generally thought to be yellow, but I thought white was more appropriate for someone who is trying to live in the light, and be a hero. Fly this with pride, and know that we are so very proud of you._

_“Your loving sister, Laurel.”_

Sara unwrapped the parcel with slightly shaking hands. The banner was sky blue, with the image of a snowy white songbird in flight. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, feeling her eyes fill with tears yet again.

“Well, of course it is. She made it for you.” 

Sara just sniffled, brushing at the tears irritably. This was **_not_** like her.

* * *

While arrangements were being made to return Oliver to his home, the crew of the Canary took the time to make a few minor repairs and upgrades to the ship...and enjoy the advantages of being in one place for a bit.

Many of the others were out and about later that day, but Sara found Leonard leaning on the rail, staring out over the water pensively. 

“Penny for ‘em?” she asked, nudging his arm playfully. 

He sighed, and kept his eyes focused on the water. 

“Leonard?” Sara prodded, concern growing in her voice. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I made a point of telling Queen that we don’t go behind each other’s back, but this-” He touched her wounded arm gently, then brushed a kiss over the scrape on her forehead. “This is on me. I snuck off when you said not to, and pissed off a bunch of thugs, just because something caught my eye…” 

“Hey. Look at me,” Sara ordered, crossing her arms. “You never lied to me about who you are, or what you do. You’ve never crossed me, or gone behind my back - and you don’t let anyone else do it, either. I trust you. Completely.”

She sighed. “I don’t like seeing that cat in a cage either. If you’d come to me, I’d likely have agreed to go along with your plan. Maybe even improved on it,” she added with a wink. “It was just dumb luck that they saw him up on deck.” 

“But you were hurt, and Sin -”

“If I got hurt, it means I was slow to react and am out of practice.” Sara shrugged. “That’s on me. And Sin is fine.” 

“Martin isn’t.” 

Now it was Sara’s turn to sigh. “And I’m sorry that he had to do that, but we’ll help him through it.”

* * *

The factor of Moira Queen’s Kingston warehouse was probably wishing for a good, stiff drink--or three, Sara mused. The presence of the long-lost heir to the Queen family fortune standing in his foreroom--calmly suggesting that his mother would be most displeased at any seeming lack of hospitality to the people who had ‘rescued’ him--had the man calling out for porters to come and fill their supply lists. 

Leonard couldn’t resist a smirk when he added a pair of child-sized shoes to the tally, and Oliver requested some fine woolen lady’s garments for Felicity. 

“Be careful, when you get home,” Sara counseled as they strolled back to The Canary. “Malcolm...he’s not the man that you remember.” 

Oliver shrugged. “I’m not the boy that _he_ remembers.” He smiled as Felicity came down and joined them on the dock. “Ready to go?” 

She nodded. “Bartholomew’s crew already moved our things to his ship.”

“Good. We can go as soon as the supplies are loaded,” Oliver said in a satisfied tone, then turned to Sara and Leonard.

“Thank you for everything,” he said, offering his hand to them both in turn. Then he looked up, admiring Sara’s standard as it waved proudly in the breeze. “It suits you,” he said, cracking a genuine grin. 

“It does,” Sara agreed. 

Oliver’s smile faded a bit around the edges. “Sara, I hope helping me hasn’t made you an enemy. Another enemy.”

“I’ve had enemies before,” she replied, shrugging. “I’m still here. They’re not.” 

“All the same...be careful. I lost you once...I’d rather not do it again.” He cast a swift glance at Felicity and Leonard. “Ah...in a thoroughly _friendly_ sort of way, of course.”

_“We_ will,” Leonard assured him, not hiding his smirk.

“Oliver,” Felicity interjected, “did you get the book I asked for?” 

He felt in his pockets, then withdrew a small volume, extending it to her. “Yes… I hope it’s the right one.” 

Felicity leafed through the pages and grinned. “It’s perfect.” She handed the book to Sara. “For Sin.” 

“Thank you,” Sara replied, genuinely pleased. 

Oliver offered his arm to guide Felicity aboard The Flash. 

“Oh, and one more thing,” she added, pausing and looking back over Oliver’s shoulder. “I think Bali might be the best place to release your tiger. The Dutch East India Company does have a presence in the area, but there should be plenty of places you can turn him loose.” 

“Thank you,” Leonard said, sounding genuinely grateful. “Some things just aren’t meant to be in cages.” 

Sara squeezed his hand, then went aboard to give orders for the loading of supplies-- and their subsequent departure.

* * *

Leonard Snart was the luckiest man in the world, he decided. Also possibly, at this moment, the happiest. That was quite a strange sensation for him, but really, he couldn’t think of anything better than what he had right at this moment--lying safe in their cabin, with Sara warm and drowsy in his arms, and nothing separating his skin from hers. 

He touched his lips to her hair, then trailed a hand down her back, sensitive fingers tracing lightly over her scars, until he came to the gentle curve of her bottom, which he gave a teasing squeeze. That earned him a throaty chuckle, and a kiss pressed to his chest. 

“What are you thinking?” Sara murmured, yawning.

“That Oliver Queen is an idiot,” Leonard answered immediately, too sleepy and content to engage any thought processes before opening his mouth. 

“Please tell me you’re not thinking about Oliver right this minute.” 

“I’m not. I’m thinking of you. I would never have let go of you, or stopped searching for you -”

Sara brushed her fingers across his lips to still him. “You know how bad those storms are. Ollie was certain I died that night, just as I was certain he did. It’s the past,” she insisted firmly. “I’d rather concentrate on what I’ve got now.” 

“Would you?” Leonard replied in a teasing tone, kissing her fingers.

“Mmmm,” Sara hummed against his chest, as her hand started to wander. “How does that poem go again?” 

“What...oh, you mean **_that_** poem?” 

Sara nodded, her hand drifting lower.

_“An hundred years should go to praise_

_Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;_

_Two hundred to adore each breast,_

_But thirty thousand to the rest;_

_An age at least to every part,_

_And the last age should show your heart.”_

Leonard’s hands were wandering now, too, and suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so sleepy, after all. 

**_Finis...for now._**


End file.
